


The Loft

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, alternate universe - non magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:36:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 192,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3573341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Above a flower shop in New York, is a newly rented loft. Draco Malfoy doesn't want to get married, and Harry Potter is running from his past. Will they learn to love? Or will Harry's problems ruin them both?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fleur de Lis

With careful hands and steady concentration, Remus Lupin tended to his thriving crape myrtle. Its gray-brown bark pealed away to surprise him with a pleasant pink, as he moved the soil around while pushing the blooms away gently. The tree was an August bloom and one of Remus' favorites; although he considered the flame eucalyptus something to behold as well. His hands sometimes bothered him, but Remus found nursing his plants worth the slight discomfort. For that was what he did, and he had the shop to prove it.  
Remus had owned his flower shop, the Fleur-de-lis, for seven years and he had never been happier. What with the steady stream of customers and botanists, life was a new experience every day for Remus and he had Fleur-de-lis to thank for it.

He hummed a bit as he worked and glanced over at the wisteria that was threatening to tangle across to the doorway. He smiled and his eyes crinkled pleasantly. That particular wisteria had been causing trouble lately, and for what must have been the seventh time, he moved it back on its shelf. His entire shop burst with green; plants wall to wall and happy in their little habitat. Remus was a happy man and his job was his pride and joy. He was sure that nothing could ever deter his path into darkness again.

Perhaps he spoke too soon, or there was a fickle wind in the air, whatever the reason; Remus faced his new trouble with the tinkling of a bell and in the form of a young man. Rebellious wisteria seemed the least of his worries at the moment. For standing tall (though in no way was the young man taller than Remus,) with a ragged backpack over one shoulder and hair that rivaled a wild Aloe-was the most striking person he had ever seen.

Now Remus was a traveled man. He had explored the very soul of South Africa, hiked through the jungle in the Congo, had gazed up at tall oaks in Europe, and observed stunning desert agaves in the Midwest. He was a learned man, having graduated from a private school with extended knowledge of six languages and two dead. Remus had lived long enough to see some pretty wonderful sights, and some not so wonderful. All and all, he considered himself wise and old in a good and wholesome way.

Most who knew Remus would agree that he was kind and impassioned, and very seldom taken by surprise. That is, until one day as he treated his Myrtle and Wisteria, a wonderfully intriguing flower stepped into his shop and into his life. He thought it might have been fate or a strange sort of irony, and the only thoughts that had entered his mind upon first sight, had disappeared when the young man turned and Remus was struck dumb.

He was long and lean, with frayed jeans and scabby shoes. He had lawless, out of control hair that stuck up in the oddest of places. Ruffled, scruffy, and looking like a soul without a home, the young man gave Remus a patient smile as he continued to observe. There were days' of road dust on the man's jeans, and the backpack slung over his shoulder looked to be bound with silver tape. He wasn't muscular, so much as lithe and shaped. He had delicate hands and a delicate disposition. Remus thought that if he fell, he would break.

That long black hair drooped into the young man's eyes, and he made a show of blowing it to the side. Remus was suddenly drawn to the brunette's face and he felt his heart give a little klathump. This young man was beautiful. His face was sculpted, shaped in fragile curves and sensitive cheek bones. He had wide and remarkably green eyes that complemented his handsome features perfectly. Looking at the young man in his entirety, Remus found his beauty almost blinding.

His rapture was broken with a word.

"Hi."

A color to rival the shade of the Myrtle trunk rose in Remus' cheeks, and he stepped behind his counter to seem more professional.

"How," he cleared his throat. "How may I help you?"

The boy shifted his stance nervously.

"I don't need any help really," he said. "I was just wondering about the sign in your window." He jutted a thumb towards the front.

Remus suddenly remembered the newly made sign that now hung in the front of his shop.

"Ah, yes. Would you be interested in applying?"

He mentally scolded himself, of course the boy would want to apply...why would he ask if he didn't?

"Please," he smiled, and then looked about as Remus shuffled for the application. "This is a lovely place. How long have you had it?"

"Seven years," Remus said proudly. "It's been the town's only source of gardening intelligence for seven whole years." He couldn't help the pleasure that leaked into his voice.

"They're lucky. I've never been to a place like this. Oh, thank you."

The boy took the application and started to look at it carefully while Remus fidgeted.

"Do you live in New York?"

Raven hair bounced as he looked up. "No, but I'm considering staying for quite a while. I enjoy the city."

Remus nodded gravely. "I would if it didn't move so quickly here," he chuckled. "Often times I'm left behind."

The young man placed the application on the counter and leaned over to examine it. He spared Remus a little grin. "I know what you mean. Do you have a pen?"

He handed one over and the scribbling started. It lasted for seconds, though Remus could have sworn it was more like hours. He finally cleared his throat.

"Forgive me. I didn't get your name."

Those beryl eyes widened. "God, I'm so rude!" he gave a wide charismatic smile once more, and stretched out a hand. "I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

"Remus Lupin."

They shook hands, and Harry pulled away and continued to fill out the job form.

"It says here you don't have to have any experience with plants to work," and Remus nodded.

"Have you had experience?"

Harry shook his bushy head.

"None. Though I did have a very good friend who adored herbology, so chances are I'll know some of what's going on."

Remus pushed back his graying hair. "Well that's certainly an advantage. Is that what made you apply at this particular store?"

Harry grinned wryly. "As you said, things move quickly here. Though…your shop seems to be in a world of its own."

He laughed. "It has been called that."

The bell tinkled and in stepped a walking Azalea. A muffled voice from behind the large plant greeted Remus with a sulky hello.

"Mrs. Figg after the Azaleas again?" Remus teased in good-nature.

The Azalea bounced a bit and Remus knew that his runner, Dennis, was already tired of Arabella Figg. Remus didn't blame him.

"What did she say?"

"She's allergic. This is the eighth plant she has ordered and sent back because she's allergic. She is insane."

Remus bit back a chuckle. "Put them in the back, and then you're off, we've no more house calls today."

The walking Azalea disappeared.

"House calls?" Harry asked, interested. Remus turned his attention back to him.

"We tend to plants on a regular basis. The city is doing a plant project to give the community the chance to improve their land with vegetation. Outside of the big city of course," Remus assured, chuckling. "There's no land left to improve there."

"Anyway, Dennis helps out with the project and delivers the flower arrangements. He's a good worker."

Harry's cheek dimpled a bit until his attention was back on the application. Remus gazed at the him with interest. What on earth was a boy, a boy such as this, doing applying for a job away from home? Did he have a home? Where was he from? If Remus had seen Harry on the street in Manhattan, say, he would have instantly thought him homeless.

"Done." Harry jostled him out of his thoughts. "I'm afraid there isn't any way to contact me. Would it be all right if I came back tomorrow?"

Remus held onto the application and nodded.

"Sure. I just need to check everything over," and he saw that Harry was slinging his backpack up and straightening. Remus offered a hand. "In all probability, you'll get the job."

Harry smiled a very wonderful smile and Remus' heart skipped again.

"See you later."

He side-stepped the silly Wisteria and the bell tinkled merrily as he left. Remus felt a weight lift from his shoulders and his hand tingled pleasantly for a moment. Dennis came back in, brushing his pant legs off and mumbling.

"Who was that?" he grumbled.

"You didn't see him?"

Dennis scowled.

"I was busy with the Azaleas."

Remus laughed as the teen came over and sat on a metal stool behind the counter.

"That was the new worker I'm going to hire…to look after the plants with me. You didn't see him?" Remus asked.

Dennis gave him an odd look. "No, what's he like?"

"I honestly can't say."

"What?"

"I can't say…he bewildered me."

Dennis spun around on the stool nervously. "Well then why are you hiring him?"

"Because he seems...interesting..."

"Interesting like how? How old is he?"

Remus looked down at the application. "It says nineteen."

"You don't believe him?" Dennis asked, brows rising.

"No, I believe it."

"Whatever. I'm off." Dennis slouched out of the stool and headed for the door, waving a goodbye over his shoulder and Remus was left alone.

His thoughts throughout the day seemed to revolve around the young man no matter what he did. He found the application lacked two things; a phone number and an address. There was a Social Security number and the required information. In the background information it told very little. "I've moved around most of my life, so I don't have a home, exactly." The application had asked if he'd ever had a criminal record. "Any problems in the past have been smoothed over, or served by me. As of now I have no criminal record."

Remus didn't much mind if the young man had a criminal record, since he was rather immune to troublemakers by now. It was the lack of address, phone number and the general state of the young man when he had walked into the shop that worried him. Who was this Harry Potter? Remus didn't know, though he intended find out.

Managing to think about more pressing matters, like the red light blinking on his store answering machine and what he planned on scraping up for dinner, Remus began to close the shop for the day. Before he checked his waiting message, Remus bent down and moved the Wisteria away from the door-smiling.


	2. Madison and David

 

Remus awoke at dawn, with the morning sunlight pleasantly warm on his skin. It was cold for the season and he immediately tried to deny having to get out of bed. The floor would be cold and he shuttered, managing to crack an eye open. Though only enough to briefly glimpse his small but cozy bedroom alight with the rising sun. Remus' room was in the back of the store, and next to him was the storage and workroom. His place was pretty big.

A watch beeped at him from its bed on the night stand, and he managed to pull himself up. His plants needed to be fed seeing as the day had begun, however reluctantly he wanted to admit. He hopped over to the bathroom, hissing at the cold ground, before confining himself to a long, hot shower. When he was fresh, clean, and in new clothes, Remus slipped on his apron and walked out of his bedroom, tying his long amber-gray hair back with a leather strap.

The bell tinkled and Remus turned to greet his early visitor.

"Good morning, Mrs. Sprout."

Mrs. Sprout, a portly woman with wild sugar-brown hair, smiled at Remus sneakily.

"Why good morning Remus, I know I'm here early..."

"It's fine. The store opens with the Morning Glory."

Mrs. Sprout chortled happily, a kind of laugh that would have made Remus cringe if he wasn't used to it.

"I simply must finish the arrangements for Miss Bell's wedding, seems they're adding another bridesmaid," she raised a bushy eyebrow with glee.

Remus frowned. "Are they now?"

"Oh yes, it seems Miss Bell's second cousin-twice removed-put up a royal fuss when she wasn't asked. Which turns out that their whole side of the family wasn't invited. So naturally, it caused quite the quarrel among the sisters..."

Mrs. Sprout was a widow, having lost her husband in a tragic mountain climbing accident twelve years ago. Remus found the flower arranger to be sportingly cheerful, and always full of a brisk and efficient air. She found happiness in the local gossip and Remus was used to hearing it early in the morning. Apparently scandal and intrigue seemed to develop over night. Mrs. Sprout had a brilliant eye for color and a memory for flowers. Remus had often said it was Mrs. Sprout's talents and intelligence that kept the shop going for so long. Every competing florist was put out of business; something Remus was very proud of.

"That's quite the thing, isn't it?" she talked with more enthusiasm.

Remus had hired her from the very beginning, and six and a half years later had hired Dennis. Dennis, however, was a special case with Remus. He was seventeen and every bit the teenager. He wallowed and sulked and looked to Remus for comfort, and Remus tried to be a mentor, but the impressive Collin Creevey had outdone his parent's wishes, and Dennis would always be second best.

He was a hard worker and Remus liked having him around. The only problem was that school had started for Dennis, and he could no longer help with Remus' plants. Since Dennis delivered and only assisted Remus, he was able to keep his weekend job of delivering. Dennis' only duty lay with Mrs. Sprout, and so the sign for hire had gone up.

The sign had been outside for a week before someone had walked in and asked for an application. Remus had a sudden flashback of green eyes...

"Remus?"

He turned back to Mrs. Sprout apologetically. "I'm sorry, what did you ask?"

She smiled congenially and dropped her voice to an exaggerated whisper. "Did you-know-who call?"

Remus snorted. "Honestly, we can say his name. It's not a crime."

Remus moved around the counter and picked up a water jug, as Mrs. Sprout followed him with interest.

"It is!" she said. "His father's the owner of Madison and David, and we both know how corrupt that company is!"

Remus snorted again.

"I heard Madison and David was under inquiry from the federal government...something about embezzlement?" she assumed, raising her eyebrows and lowering her voice suggestively.

"Oh come on now, really."

"Now, now, Remus. Sybil was telling me the other day..."

He stopped in his careful watering and scowled. "She's an old hen."

Mrs. Sprout slapped him on the arm but couldn't quite hold back a giggle.

"Yes well, Sybil said that Madison and David was just a cover up for the illegal crime industry they've been running. All underground you know. "

Remus sighed.

"I told Sybil that the heir to Madison and David had called asking for a room and board and she said..."

"He didn't ask more like, demanded." Remus interrupted sharply, and straightened up in front of a happy looking rose bush. "In fact, he sounded nice though preoccupied...like he had a lot to do."

Mrs. Sprout clicked her tongue. "What I have to wonder Remus, is why a wealthy man such as him would want to live above a flower shop. That loft is positively morbid."

Remus smiled. "Some would call it inspiring."

"Inspiring!" she cried. "Black walls, high windows, winding staircases...it's unsuitable for a crime lord's heir."

He thought this highly ironic, but chose not to comment as Mrs. Sprout followed him around insistently.

"There's no doubt that the government was checking on the two murders reported at Madison and David. Done by Madison and David security too! It's quite the scandal...and having that man's son above our shop can't be good for business."

Remus hadn't thought of that. His mind turned over the different reactions of the city. Some would be angry he had no doubt, since the company had a bad reputation. But Remus was never a man to turn down such an offer. The loft hadn't been rented in three years and for the sum that the Madison and David heir had offered...Remus would take it. He was not selfish and in no way wanted the money for worldly pleasures. He had an insurance bill to pay off, and though business was steady...he could always use more back up.

"He called last night," Remus said. "And proposed the oddest thing."

Mrs. Sprout leaned forward interestedly. "Did he?"

"He wants me to advertise for a roommate."

"A roommate!"

"Yes," Remus was just as baffled. "He said specifically that I should find him a roommate. I would have thought he would have wanted to choose..."

She scoffed. "Oh you know those young things, sheltered in their wealth…wealth undoubtedly made from drug trafficking and thievery…."

He chided her gently, until the bell tinkled and in walked Dennis.

"Good morning, Mrs. Sprout."

She dimpled. "Good morning, Dennis." The phone suddenly rang from the back. "That's the phone!" she said, and ran off to catch it.

Dennis groaned. "Orders already? I just woke up."

Remus smiled. "Guess who's going to be living upstairs?"

"Oh no!" Dennis moaned. "You haven't given the loft to that asshole rich guy, have you?"

"Dennis!" Remus and Mrs. Sprout yelled at the same time, Mrs. Sprout poking her head out of the door to glare at him.

"You don't know Remus. That company is bad news."

Remus felt as if he'd heard this already.

"My dad works for one of the companies they bought. I've heard him say that some weird stuff is going on with the trust. They're having money issues too..."

"A billion dollar cooperation having money issues? I doubt it..." Remus speculated, but Dennis shook his head.

"No it's true, something weird is going on. Dad says no one should trust a Malfoy."

Remus thought that maybe it was his heart that said give the heir a chance. The young man had sounded rather repressed and edgy. He wouldn't have labeled the young Malfoy for a criminal. Now his father on the other hand...just looking at the man made Remus go rigid. He was strong and powerful, and despite Remus' denial, he could see Lucius Malfoy as a crime lord.

What his son was doing buying a room outside of big city New York was lost to him. Remus was baffled but indifferent. Whatever the reason for the heir's sudden epiphany, it was none of his business, and he would strive to accommodate the Malfoy any way he could. The roommate request though…that confused him entirely. It was almost as if Malfoy didn't know how it worked. That the lodger would pay half and they would in fact-live together. The obvious choice would be for him to choose a roommate on his own. Maybe a close friend?

It only added to the impression Malfoy made on Remus. Sheltered, hidden, and insecure, Remus was sure this young man's only forte was of business and power. The problem was he didn't know how to be himself. Remus didn't doubt it with a father like Lucius Malfoy.

His thoughts didn't stray from that same subject for a very long time, and the day progressed with the usual visitors and the same orders if not more. Everyone was getting married for the season.

It was early afternoon when the bell jingled and in walked Harry Potter. It was Dennis who saw him first.

"Can I help...y-you?"

Harry stood, wind swept though a bit scruffier than yesterday. His bright green eyes sparkled in the dim lights, and his hair flipped about cutely. He wore a black holey mousy with jeans and high tops. They were the same jeans from yesterday, and the same shoes, though the look was still mildly impressive. Remus was sure Harry made an impression wherever he went.

Harry had his hands buried in his pockets and a natural smile on his face. The dilapidated backpack still hanging from his shoulder.

"Hi again." Harry said, his eyes turning onto Dennis. Dennis sputtered for a moment; his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Remus gathered his wits and walked over reaching out a hand for Harry to shake.

"Harry. Good to see you. Would you like to go over the procedure now?" Remus caught a glimpse of Dennis' red cheeks.

"If you're not too busy. I take it no one applied after I left?"

"None. Come on, I'll show you around."

Remus led a taciturn Harry to the back, oblivious to Dennis who was just now breaking out of his stupor. He walked into the storage room where Mrs. Sprout was hanging up the phone and jotting down her order with a small smile. She looked up as they entered and her eyes widened comically.

"Mrs. Sprout. Meet Harry," Harry stepped forward to shake her hand. "Harry, meet Mrs. Sprout."

She shook hands softly, her eyes shining with interest.

"Well aren't you a sight," she said.

Remus paled.

"You have Dennis in a right fix, young man," she looked at Dennis teasingly, who blushed scarlet. Remus sighed behind his teeth. "I can see why Remus gave you the job!"

"Mrs. Sprout..." Remus warned, and she giggled.

"Oh I'm just teasing. How are you, Harry?"

Harry smiled. "I'm fine, thank you, and you must be the honored flower arranger. I must say, your gift with Camellias and Azaleas is inspiring."

"Oh you are a charmer!" she laughed merrily. "I can imagine you put on this little act to seduce all the old widows you meet, am I right?"

"Mrs. Sprout!" Remus said, and Dennis choked. Harry's face, however, was alight with a playful smirk.

"I've been ousted. I'll admit the act is perfected to enchant you."

She smiled genuinely.

"Mission accomplished."

The conversation turned around from there on and Harry did successfully in Mrs. Sprout's eyes. Remus was able to assess a bit more of the boy's character from his interactions. He was not shy, and didn't have a problem with voicing his opinion; only sometimes was he withdrawn. He was clever-hugely clever-and Remus found the mystery of such a young man compelling. Harry was sharp and when he teased he was never cruel. One thing in particular stuck out most to Remus, and it was Harry's reaction to Mrs. Sprout's praise.

It wasn't vanity, or ignorance, or even modesty that made Harry ignore her doting on his pretty face. It was simple confusion. Remus found his innocence endearing, and very attractive. Harry was in every sense unique, and not just for his beauty.

Dennis seemed to have fallen for his involuntary charms as well. Remus hadn't known that the teenager was attracted to his own sex, and didn't much mind. Remus was very sure that mad blush would be permanent while Harry was around. His sudden affection for his new employee didn't curb his curiosity at all, and he wondered at Harry's rugged state.

"You don't have a place to stay Harry?" Mrs. Sprout brought up before Remus could ask, and Harry looked uncomfortable.

"I don't stay in places for too long," he said. "I move around a lot, so I sleep where I can."

Mrs. Sprout gasped. "In the streets?"

Harry crinkled his brow. "Sometimes I don't even sleep really, it isn't a big deal."

"Oh but it is!" She looked shocked and outraged at the thought. "You can stay here! Can't he Remus?"

Remus shook himself and looked over at the pair, and then at Dennis who refused to look up.

"Of course he could..."

"I don't want to intrude. I wouldn't want to stay when I can just..."

"Oh stop!" Mrs. Sprout burst out. "You'll stay here. In fact! We have a loft upstairs that's being rented by a big shot company heir. He'll need a lion tamer up there, and you need a room...he wants a roommate..." she nudged him hopefully.

"Mrs. Sprout, I really don't think..."

"...And you can watch him for us, we think he's into some trouble..."

"Mrs. Sprout, please..." Remus pleaded.

"He's bad news for sure, but Remus insists on giving the room to that brat..."

"Mrs. Sprout!" She stopped and stared at him. Harry looked on, a bit overwhelmed.

Remus juggled his thoughts together and smiled at Harry.

"You're welcome to stay in the loft. The young man who has rented the space is coming tomorrow to move his things in, and is looking for a roommate."

Remus thought it would be cruel to mesh both young men together without any history...but Harry had no home. Remus wanted to know why, he was intrigued, and Harry needed some help...

"You would be able to pay any rent from your work here, and I wouldn't mind if it was less than half, I wouldn't, he paused and ran a hand through his hair. "You shouldn't be living on the streets."

Harry seemed almost suffocated, and swallowed slightly; his large green eyes a shade darker.

"I don't have a problem with the street."

"I would feel horrible every time you walked into that door, Harry. After a night on the streets, I would feel absolutely horrible."

The young man frowned, thinking carefully.

"Alright," he said finally, and Mrs. Sprout beamed.

"Done. How about we learn about some plants, now?" Remus smiled gently. "You start tomorrow."

He explained the basics of which Harry was slightly familiar. Watering was no problem, and Remus left that up to him, though mostly, he was hired to do what Remus couldn't do. Like get the groceries during shop hours or run a personal errand. Harry seemed content with whatever job Remus proposed to give him.

"What about that metal bracket?"

Remus turned to the fallen rack curiously. It had collapsed, after the plants had been moved, he admitted thankfully, and was the reason why the Wisteria was able to wreak havoc on passing customers. He turned back to Harry inquiringly.

"I could fix it up if you like."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "You can weld?"

Harry shook his hair. "I've had a lot of odd jobs, Mr. Lupin," and he ducked his face a bit.

"Have you? What is it you do, Harry?" He watched him carefully. "And call me Remus, please."

Harry nodded his head, and then looked about for a memory.

"I've welded. Worked with wood, you know, floors and stuff. I've been in retail more times then I can count," he motioned towards the counter. "So I could help with that, too."

Harry bit his lip. "And some other things."

Remus suddenly spun to look at him seriously, a little suspicious.

"Other things?"

Harry looked down, suddenly seeming much younger. He was uncomfortable and Remus found he didn't want him to be uncomfortable. He dropped it, and started another subject.

"Where do you come from then, Harry? You seem a little young to be wandering around."

But it seemed he'd gone from bad to worse. Harry withdrew from him completely, his eyes anywhere but on Remus.

"Can't tell me that either, can you?"

Still, the nineteen year old glanced away.

"Listen here," Remus said, his voice abruptly turning strict and cold. "I'll not have any trouble. So if you're running away from the law, or your family, or a gang..."

"I'm not, I swear!" He contemplated his words for a moment, and slipped his gaze from Remus to the floor.

"I've been a lot of things," he said carefully. "Any trouble I got into is over and done with. I paid for my crimes...I'm a different person now."

He was silent. Remus watched him suddenly become human; a solid form before his very eyes. Harry wasn't just a pretty face...he was hiding something…and Remus would find out. He was so very interesting and Remus was so terribly curious. Now, at least, Harry was somebody to him rather than a puzzle. Harry lived and breathed as any plant would. Sometimes Remus forgot that.

"I'm just here at the moment." Harry inhaled steadily. "I think that's what counts."

Remus smiled a truly genuine smile. Yes, he would need to know all there was to know about Harry Potter...it was impossible not to be attracted to that charisma. He turned back, content.

"This Myrtle on my right has already peeled its bark..."

He got to know Harry a little more throughout the day, but only barely. There was a lot to learn about a person, and Remus often found it took years to truly know someone. Harry did not withdraw but seemed in thoughtful reverie while Remus showed him about the shop

Harry was unlike anything he had ever met before. He was hard to study, hard to get to know, but likeable…definitely. Remus liked him.

"Freelance. Just freelance."

"I somehow knew it."

Harry smiled. "Knew from the start, didn't you?

"I thought you might be an artist. You look the part."

"That's generalizing Remus."

"Don't we all do it?" he said, and Harry laughed.

"We do." He looked down at the phone cards he was alphabetizing and grimaced at his clothes. "I'd like to say I've traveled enough to fit the part...my worn clothes and all," he sighed and smiled. "Art is what makes you."

Remus gave a lopsided grin. "Funny. Others would say that you make art."

"You're generalizing again." They both laughed.

Harry was sent out about five o'clock to get some things for Remus. The store was a few blocks away and he was expected back shortly. It didn't stop Mrs. Sprout from jabbering about him the moment he left, though.

"Where do you suppose he's from?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"It's a complete mystery. I think he might have been in trouble though."

Dennis perked up. "What did he do?"

"None of your business," Mrs. Sprout snapped.

"He doesn't have any parents, I think." Remus shook his head. "And if he does, I can only wonder why he chooses to live like he does."

"Abusive parents, do you think?"

"No. He chose to live like this, I think."

"Live like how?" Dennis asked, and Mrs. Sprout clicked her tongue knowingly.

"Moving around, sleeping in the streets, doing who knows what for money..." She shook her head sadly, "He is rather tragic, isn't he?"

Remus had no doubt that Mrs. Sprout would go home and call Sybil, who would then call everyone she knew that knew Remus and Mrs. Sprout. Harry would be famous among the locals by tomorrow.

The bell tinkled and in walked a man with a gray suit and an ugly cap. He squinted at them.

"Where do we set up?"

Mrs. Sprout twittered excitedly.

"You must be the movers! Is Mr. Malfoy with you?" the man shook his head.

"Just had us come to this address, said he'd be over early in the morning." Remus sighed.

"So he's just going to leave his stuff up there?" he asked, taking off his smock.

"Well you'll be here, won't you?"

Remus ignored him and motioned for Dennis to follow. They walked outside where the traffic jammed down the street and people made more headway with walking. Remus drowned out the honking and the sound of exhaust enough to push his way to the truck. Dennis cursed when he saw how much was in the back.

"Why didn't he just stay in his goddamn mansion?"

Remus gave him a reproachful glare and they set to helping the movers. Up the stairs and through the hall, through the one of two doors and into the loft. Remus always smiled when he entered the room. It was a huge blank space, much like a studio. Remus suddenly had an idea, and he grinned wider.

They traipsed up and down the stairs, and on the third trip, Harry returned from the store. He came out as soon as the groceries were stolen by Mrs. Sprout, and helped move the furniture and boxes upstairs. When he entered the loft, however, he stopped completely. Remus walked up behind him, brushing his pants off.

"It's inspiring, isn't it?" Harry only nodded. Remus took in the high arched triangular windows and long black walls. The sun barely lightened the darkened room.

"I was thinking you could maybe fix it up."

Harry glanced at Remus quickly.

"What?"

"I'll give you the money for the paint and things," he offered, grinning. "I think you could really make this at least passable for his highness."

Harry shook his head. "I have money..."

"Not nearly enough for what you could do," he conceded happily. "And you'll need some furniture yourself, Mr. Potter."

"I don't like taking money..." but Remus waved a hand at him.

"I'll take it from your paycheck."

"But the rent..."

Remus placed a steady had on his shoulder.

"Harry...do this for me, will you? Just do it."

Harry was silent for a few moments, and then he nodded.

"Okay."

Remus smiled. "Speaking of which...rent? So you've decided to stay?"

He knew Harry wouldn't be able to turn down the offer when he saw the loft. It was what had captured Remus in the first place. Harry looked at his feet.

"I like it here."

"I do too," he reached inside of his pocket. "Here's three hundred, no, don't say anything...just...just dazzle me."

Harry laughed. "When do we get to meet this heir, anyway?"

"Tomorrow morning," Remus groaned. "He'll be something to handle."

They moved out of the room and down the stairs, and Remus told him about the different things the loft had. There was a winding staircase in the corner that went up to the roof, and apart from the gothic windows, there were three sun screens on the ceiling. The bathroom was across the hall from them and the only thing Remus worried about with the apartment was what Malfoy would think of it. He hated to say it, but he needed that rent money. If he got what was promised, Harry wouldn't have to pay at all.

Remus admitted to himself that he was thinking about Harry in more ways than one. He was sure he could turn the boy's life around, get him off the streets, and do something so that Harry didn't look quite so tragic. He would have to learn about the young man first, which seemed like the biggest challenge. Perhaps Malfoy...?

A thought suddenly struck him, and he nearly laughed aloud. For Remus had talked to the heir, and was very familiar with the boy's impatience and cleanliness. Remus knew very well Malfoy was tight. What would a snob like Draco Malfoy do in an encounter with Harry Potter? The little voice in Remus' mind cackled. He would kill him that is...if Harry didn't do it first.

"I'll leave the door unlocked and you can let yourself in. If you need help you can wake me up...I have a feeling you'll be out late."

Harry smiled. "Just some things to pick up, the paint, a mattress."

"I'll be here."

Remus watched as Harry headed for the door but not before thanking him again in what Remus could only describe as shock and pleasure. He yawned, enjoying the afternoon sun and the careful banter of Mrs. Sprout and Dennis. It wasn't until very late, after Remus had gone to bed, that he heard Harry climb up the stairs and into the loft. He thought little of it, and fell back to sleep.


	3. Meet the Rich Kids

Draco Malfoy was scared for his life. He held onto the car door, as if it would jump up disappear, hoping that luck was on his side today. Unheeded, Blaise Zabini drove recklessly through traffic, nearly hitting three cars and swiping a bicycler. Draco remained somewhat calm and composed as they sped off, but only barely. He hated driving with Blaise.

"This will be good for you," Blaise was yelling, seeing as the car window was down and the music was blaring. "Getting out on my own was the best thing I ever fucking did for myself."

Blaise seemed to think that using the same profane word in a sentence more than six times was pretty cool. He was also under the delusion he was a good driver.

"I mean, fuck!" he said, making a sharp turn to the left. "I was completely out of it, you know? My whole life was business after fucking business, and then I met Hermione..."

He shook his head and pushed on the gas.

"I fucking hated her at first, all she'd fucking do is correct my grammar. Said I used the fucking F word too much."

Draco lent back and held on.

"Sounds like a smart girl."

Despite his courage, his voice broke when he yelled.

"Very fucking funny."

"Blaise watch the road!"

They nearly hit a loading truck, and Blaise went back into the boundary of the line, gazing in his side mirror and cursing. Draco didn't know whose big idea it was to give the brunette a car, and would have been happy to know...so he could promptly prove them otherwise.

Blaise was the son of the Vice President of Madison and David, and had been Draco's best friend ever since he could remember. He was a good, loyal guy, but tended to steer clear of responsibility or commitment (Draco's intended forte). He was completely immature, and though Draco considered him his best and only friend, they were so different that they fought continuously. Blaise always laughed and said, "What's love without a little hate?"

They were late for a meeting at Madison and David, as it always was when Blaise and Draco car pooled. Early Monday morning was havoc on the streets, though his best friend wove through the traffic with little to no caution. Draco would have said to anyone who'd asked, that for all of Blaise's blase, he was no more tough than his impassive, over protective father.

Not that Draco could say, considering his own dad, the owner and president of Madison and David, was the worst of the 'protective parent' epidemic. Together, he and Blaise made the perfect example of the sheltered rich kid generality, that made up big town New York.

"Fuck we're late," Blaise gunned the gas and shot through a small parking lot to an intersection, using his keenly observant young mind to cut three cars off and nearly run into a stop sign.

"You do know your father's going to fucking go off."

Draco had been ignoring that particular subject. He sneered.

"He'll just have to get over it. I want to do this, I really do."

They stopped at a red light, thankfully, as Blaise seemed to be contemplating whether to run it. He got out a lighter and a cigarette and glanced at Draco slyly.

"Finally, one Mr. Zabini is recognized for his genius," he slung and arm around Draco's seat, smirking. Draco straightened his suit and lidded his eyes, refusing to answer.

"You know," Blaise said superiorly. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were having serious second thoughts."

Draco turned to him and raised an eyebrow. The car behind them honked and Blaise glared, before stepping on the gas and flying across the intersection.

"And not just standard second thoughts. I mean like fucking serious second thoughts."

Draco looked at him warily. "You were the one who suggested I get out! 'Oh Draco, you're so fucking oblivious. There are more things in life than fucking work!'"

His friend gave him an amused glance, his smoke hanging from the side of his lip. "You won't stop working, no matter what I do," he stared off. "You're still going to get married...I just bought you some time."

Draco sighed through gritted teeth, "I know that. I do. And I'm not having second thoughts...it's just..." he pushed his tongue underneath his teeth. "I don't know if I want to marry Pansy."

Blaise grunted, shaking his head. "She's a beautiful woman," he gave him a glance when Draco cast him an 'obviously' look. "Or is it that she's a female that makes you hesitant?"

Draco groaned and put his head in his hands. "I knew it would come up, I knew it," his friend laughed genuinely, and they hit another stop sign.

"Oh come on!" he cursed. "We are so fucking late."

Draco glanced at his watch.

"You haven't even told your fucking father yet," Blaise suddenly snapped, drumming his thumb on the steering wheel.

"Don't remind me, Blaise."

"Even after that fucking insane episode with what's-his-name," Draco bit his lip, and Blaise continued to pester him. "You really fucking loved him. You just couldn't tell your fucking father that you liked guys instead of girls..."

"Can we not talk about this?" Draco snapped. "Besides, I'm bisexual, not gay."

Blaise snorted, his grin growing wider. "Bisexual men are always gay, their just in the middle of the river."

Draco waited for it, his face taking on a pained look.

"You know, denial? Haha! Get it? The Nile?"

There followed manic laughter from his best friend, and Draco decided the view to his right was terribly interesting.

"Oh look, I'm over the line," Blaise said, sitting up and looking over the top of his car.

He looked in his rear-view mirror and then to the side, before twisting around to back up. Cars honked fearfully as he pushed heavily on the gas pedal. The light turned green and Blaise shrugged, shifting gears and shooting off.

Draco stared at his friend in appalled amusement. He admired Blaise somewhat, for being so carefree...so trivial. Blaise never let anything bother him, unlike Draco who took everything to heart. Blaise partied and drank and simply caused havoc, and there had always been himself in the shadows; prim and proper as was expected of a Malfoy.

Draco would not admit it, but Blaise was very right in regards to Pansy. She was a beautiful woman, and a good match to start a family. His best friend was more than on the ball when he voiced the serious second thoughts that Draco was having. He was scared. More than scared actually...terrified. How could he possibly spend the rest of his life with someone he didn't even love? And still, the heir would not confess he wanted love. The kind of love Hermione and Blaise shared.

Though that seemed almost impossible, all things considered.

"Red light," Blaise sang, closing his eyes in frustration.

"Just turn here and take the back street."

They drove off, cigarette smoke fogging the windows. Draco motioned for Blaise to roll his down a little more and his friend glared, but did it anyway. The annoyingly loud screaming coming from the stereo was giving Draco a headache, and when they finally pulled into the parking complex, he sighed in relief.

Blaise drove highspeed into an open parking space, backing up at the last moment and screeching his tires.

"Whoops."

Draco rolled his eyes and got out of the car, smirking at the crooked way Blaise had parked. His friend kicked his car door shut, bobbing his head and singing lightly, before fixing his hair in his side mirror. He flashed Draco a grin and snapped his fingers.

"Let's go."

When they got to the top floor, a spacious area consisting of the very top Madison and David employees, they were received with no trouble. They wouldn't ever be, but as of late the security had risen tenfold.

"Hello, Millie, is my father free?"

Millicent looked up from her files and smiled at him.

"Wait one moment Mr. Malfoy, I'll check."

She pressed a button on her phone and pushed the speaker.

"Mr. Malfoy, your son is here to see you," Blaise fidgeted beside him, and Draco glanced his way.

"Let him in," came his father's smooth voice from the speaker. Millie smiled.

"Go right in sirs."

Draco thanked her and headed for the sliding automatic doors. They admitted him into a lobby of sorts, that led to the penthouse office at the opposite side of the room. They walked in carefully.

"Ah. Draco."

Lucius Malfoy hung up his phone and turned to his only son and heir. He was a well-built, broad shouldered man, with silky silver-blonde hair and piercing gray eyes. Their family was always recognized by the Malfoy genes, and Draco was often told he was the younger version of his stunningly handsome father.

"Father."

He stepped forward and took a seat in front of his father's desk. Blaise came over and plopped himself down, looking about with disinterest.

"You haven't been home at all lately, Draco," Lucius started, raising an eyebrow. "Your mother wished you to not overwork yourself."

Draco thought venomously for a moment, and you would have me work twenty-four seven.

"I trust you are not in any trouble."

The question was directed in reference to Blaise's presence, and was not lost to either men. Blaise narrowed his eyes, but stayed silent.

"No father, not that."

Lucius shuffled the papers on his desk, glancing at them before placing them neatly into a drawer.. He gave Draco a once-over.

"So I hear from your mother that you're on your own now. Rented a loft, I see," Draco nodded. "Tell me son, why now?"

He could practically hear Blaise's triumphant mental whoop. Upon a swift glance, the tiny smirk was evident enough.

He paused before answering. "I'd like to live on my own for a while. See what it's like before I get married."

Draco cursed, did I really just leak that edge of bitterness? Blaise bit his lip and raised and eyebrow at him. Yes, I did.

Lucius looked less than thrilled.

"Oh?" he sighed and sat forward elegantly. "This marriage arrangement will be good for press and business, we've been over this Draco."

"Yes, I know, and I have every intention of marrying Pansy," Draco said through gritted teeth. "I just need some time to be on my own for a while."

"Your mother tells me you're taking leave from work for three months after the first of the year. Is that true?"

Draco felt a cold prickle on the back of his neck.

"Well, since I have a place now...and if the wedding is planned for June, Pansy will need help."

It was the truth (half of the truth) and it seemed to placate Lucius perfectly.

"You're working at home no doubt."

"I am. All of our clients documents that can be faxed to me, will be, and Blaise here is still going to be working in the office."

Lucius sneered. "How reassuring."

Blaise sat forward, his mouth opened and his face red but he thought better of it, and sat back. A grumble escaped his lips, but they ignored him.

"I know this is unlike me father, but being on my own may help with my ambitions. I'm only nineteen..." Draco pleaded.

"You, Draco, are old enough to take responsibility! This time off will offer you nothing but confusion. Your future is in front of you..."

"Marriage at nineteen is fucking wack," Blaise decided to snap. Lucius was used to Blaise's sharp tongue, and if he wasn't such good friends with the young man's father, he would have lost his temper.

"Blaise..." Draco said in warning. Blaise scowled, seeming to think Draco was switching sides on him and turned back to Lucius.

"And he's not living alone. We've found him a roommate."

Mentally, Draco groaned.

"A roommate?" Lucius raised an eyebrow and glanced back at his son.

"I suggested that he get out a bit more, quit working so hard. I suggested he get a roommate so he could bond with someone else other than me."

The elder Malfoy looked down at his papers with a sigh. "I should have known."

There was an awkward silence, in which Blaise developed a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Draco knew he wanted a cigarette.

"Have you certified this roommate yourself, Mr. Zabini?" Lucius suddenly asked. Blaise smiled sloppily.

"Nah, the owner of the shop Draco's going to be living above said he found the perfect guy to room with Draco here."

"So you have no idea what this man's history is like? His records?" Draco's father seemed to swell with anger. "His criminal records."

"I'm sure he's not a weirdo or anything," Blaise said, shrugging. "The man who owns the shop seems like a nice guy. I doubt he'd lead us astray."

Lucius sat back and smirked. "Forgive me, if your opinion does absolutely nothing to restore my confidence."

Blaise opened his mouth again, intent on defending his honor, but was distracted when Draco delivered a swift kick to the back of his leg.

"Ouch!" he said, glaring.

"Father," Draco said. "I need to do this. If anything for myself. I trust Blaise, and that he found me a nice place to live, and an acceptable roommate," he paused. "I'll probably barely see him other than at night or in the morning...I'll still be working..."

"Until New Years," Lucius snapped. "I don't know about you taking three entire months off of work for this little escapade, but it cannot be good for business. Nor..." he gave a fierce glare to Blaise. "The newspapers."

Blaise looked at Draco, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Escapade?" he mouthed, still rubbing his leg.

"You understand Draco, that you cannot laze about and fraternize with ingrates. The press will eat it alive," Lucius breathed in deeply. "I trust your judgement, though some would certainly call me a fool for doing so."

Blaise blew out a breath, cursing. "That's Snape talking. Fuck that."

"He is immensely worried about you Draco," Lucius said, ignoring Blaise. "He will be calling you up more than usual to make sure you are not in any trouble."

"Snape being parental? Shocker, complete shocker," Blaise said, leaning his head back on the chair. Draco turned to him, glaring.

"He's my godfather, Blaise."

Draco watched his friend mumble a bit, before turning back to his father. He admired the elder Malfoy's poise and confidence for a moment.

Ever since Draco had been very little, he'd wanted to be just like his dad. Lucius Malfoy was one of the most powerful men in the world, and the running of Madison and David would go to Draco when he was old enough. The only other man he admired as much as his father, was his godfather, Severus Snape.

Severus was a solitary man, though good to Draco and a strong asset to the company. Severus was a botanist, and therefore traveled around the world in search of knowledge. Draco had often times admired Severus for being so forward, and yet so composed. The two were more father and son than Lucius had ever really been to Draco, and for that, the Malfoy heir was thankful.

"Eh," Blaise suddenly snapped. "We've got to go. You're meeting the guy with the flowers at nine."

"What?" Draco snapped.

Blaise stood up and looked at his watch. "You know, the flower guy, the one you're renting the loft from?"

Draco stood also, shaking his head in bewilderment. He turned to his father in exasperation.

"I'll call mother later."

Lucius nodded, slightly pensive. "See that you do."

His best friend dragged him out of the office, looking impatient to leave. Once they were in the lobby, Draco tore his arm free from Blaise.

"I can't meet him today, I've got an appointment with the Masons'"

Blaise stopped and stared at him.

"But you're fucking moving in tomorrow! You haven't even seen the place!"

"I know. This is short notice, Blaise," Draco suddenly went cold. "Why didn't you clarify with me if I was able to come to this appointment?"

Blaise rolled his eyes and looked away, jaw slack. "I assumed you'd want to meet the people you're going to be living with for the next year. And see your humble abode."

"On such short notice? Goddam it Blaise, I have to go to work!"

"Well sorry, next time I'll leave it up to your fucking secretary," Blaise stormed away, with Draco following.

"I can't just not show up. Call him and say I'm very sorry but..."

"...I have an engagement that I am obligated to attend to, and will call shortly to reschedule another appointment," Blaise finished. "Which, if they knew you well enough, they would see as an absolute lie. You never fucking stray from your goddamn plans."

They were outside, and Blaise lit a cigarette as they watched the cars pass and the traffic merge.

"I'll go over there. But only because I took the day off to drag your sorry fucking ass to your new apartment."

Draco kept his face placid. "Thanks Blaise."

"Yeah, yeah." Blaise set off down the steps, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I'll call you later."

Draco watched him leave, a slight discontent in his chest. This time off would be good for him, he knew. He had told his father the truth, he needed this. As he got out his cell phone and called for his driver, Draco bit his lip in pensive thought. This would be good for him.

He had thought about having a roommate, and was a little worried. He'd never really had very many friends, and those that had latched on to him were only interested in his money. He found he had quite the problem with moochers. Draco wasn't selfish with his money, far from it, nor was he spoiled. He'd had so much for all of his life, that he'd forgotten about it completely. He was a rich kid, and that was what corporate America made him out to be.

His mother had accused him of trying to prove something, and Draco would agree that it was the truth. He was trying very hard to prove that there was nothing else for him but marriage and a steady carrier, and his little jaunt with taking time off and living away from the mansion would determine his assumptions correct. All he needed was a good dose of reality, and then he would marry and turn Madison and David around. All he needed, he thought as he climbed into the back of his limo, was a shove in the right direction.


	4. First Impressions

 

Remus poured himself a cup of coffee and yawned. Monday morning dawned bright and glorious, and he smiled to himself as he watched the orange and pink colors spread across the floors of his shop. He was still drowsy; his shower hadn't properly woken him up that morning, and neither, he supposed, would his coffee. He yawned again as he put the open sign on the door.

Mondays were generally slow, not as upbeat and busy as the weekend, still, Remus enjoyed everyday of his life in his shop. He took a sip of his coffee and closed his eyes against the warm rays of the sun. The morning was indeed beautiful, and even though it was dead early, he could hear the never ending sounds of traffic and talk. He opened his eyes and gazed at the plants on the racks, noticing a few dead leaves and grimacing.

Suddenly, Remus' was caught by a flashing light at his feet. He looked down, captured suddenly by the multicolored lights. Rainbow, purple, green and rusty red-some kind of prism making colors on the floor. His eyebrows raised, and he turned around to see where the light was coming from. There were no prisms hanging in the room, seeing how it was inhabited most with plants and chimes.

His eyes noticed a stray light coming from the window facing the shop from the loft. He stared back down at the colors and then to the window. Remus walked over to his counter, letting the colors settle on his clothes before setting his mug down. He climbed up the stairs with little trouble, knocking on the door, and feeling a bit foolish. There was no answer from inside the room.

"Harry?" he called, and made an executive decision, and opened the door.

Orange and pink immediately assaulted his vision, and once his sight cleared, he was completely struck dumb. His mouth fell open in awe, and for the first time in a long time, he cursed. "Fuck." The first thing he thought, was that Mrs. Sprout would have nothing to complain about now.

Furniture had been added to the room, a still bare mattress, a couch, a card table, and two chairs. Remus wondered how Harry had done all this without waking him up. The small kitchen was cleaned and swept, and a few pots now hung above the counter. The place was spotless, and Remus could practically see himself in the once dust covered floor boards.

The winding staircase up to the roof had a new hand rail, and the steps were now painted a metallic purple. The couch was a deep violet, and sat next to the door to the adjoining room, which Remus assumed Harry had decided would be Mr. Malfoy's. Large hanging lamps dipped from the ceiling, and hung over the decidedly stylish table and chairs, which sat happily in the middle of the room.

The walls were painted their original color, not at all altered except for the blue and green trim all around the room. The dark violet had before darkened the room, but now somehow lightened it. Perhaps the most striking thing, were the large gothic windows Mrs. Sprout had said were morbid. They were no longer clouded with dirt and dust, and no longer were they black and dull. The light that Remus had seen down the stairs was strewn about the floor; carrying colors against the wooden planks. They weren't prisms, no, and when Remus looked to where the light was coming from, his mouth dropped again.

Large and decorated, the windows splashed the room with color. Stained glass now covered the entirety of each window, glass bits that fit together to make nondescript pictures, flowers, faces, and shapes. The light passed through the glass and burned the sight into Remus' eyes. The loft looked absolutely wonderful, and Remus couldn't grin any wider.

He was sure he'd never seen something like this before, a complete transformation, and he was sure he might never see it again. That is, until he looked up and saw the figure painting trim around the walls, and his heart moved uneasy once again.

Harry stood composed, cat-like, on a tall metal ladder. Both of his hands were occupied with a paint brush and a bucket of paint. He was casual, in fitting, faded jeans and a paint splattered white t-shirt, his long and messy hair curled around his neck. He looked cutely disheveled in the morning light, and he extended his body a bit to paint, making his bare feet rise up deftly.

The muffled sound of loud guitar riffs reached Remus' ears, and he followed the long cord from Harry's headphones to his ears. Harry mouthed the words, moving his brush in time with the beat, still able to carefully paint the borders. He stood skillfully, almost as if he were born in high places, his jeans hanging about his feet all frayed. Harry tilted his head and switched hips, smiling as he listened to the music.

Remus grinned, his shoulders shaking slightly as he watched his friend. His laughter didn't last long, as Harry slapped his brush back into the bucket.

"What do you think?"

Remus looked at him, and then at the room. His eyes were bright.

"You've outdone yourself."

Harry laughed, a long, pleasant sound, and turned off his head phones. He made his way down the ladder expertly, turning his smile on Remus when he reached the bottom.

"You're possibly the best critic I've ever encountered."

Harry padded over to him, setting down the paint before lodging his hands in his pockets. He bit his lip and titled his head.

"You should redecorate for a living, good money there, and you'd be good at it." Remus suggested, and Harry gave him an odd look.

"It comes with the gaygenes."

"Gay genes?"

"One word. Gaygenes, depending on how long you've fancied the same sex."

Remus laughed, before pretending to think seriously,

"Since I was six, and my mothers Dolce & Gabbana bags held certain appeal."

Harry lost himself in laughter.

"It happens to the best of us Remus, I assure you."

Remus explored the loft with interest, explaining what he liked and what he loved. Harry really had outdone himself. They talked for a while about Harry's skills, and then Remus was thoughtful.

"When you're ready, I have a delivery for you to make, that is, if you're even awake." Remus tilted his head, " On second thought, maybe you should just take the day off." He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

The young man seemed to get a bit annoyed, at the prospect of charity or leniency, Remus didn't know. Remus had a thought as to why Harry was even staying in the loft, and the logical part of his brain told him Harry had severe issues with people helping him. Remus got the feeling Harry was trying to pay him back for the money, the job, and the home, simply by sticking around.

Harry shook his bushy head.

"No, I'm wide awake. Where do you need me to go?"

He stalked over to the ladder and slipped his shoes on, not bothering with the laces as they were already tied. Harry grabbed his ruddy backpack and slipped it over his shoulder. Remus looked at it curiously for a moment, and then turned back into the conversation.

When Harry left, Remus went back up to the loft and took a look one more time, awed and terribly impressed. Mrs. Sprout came in shortly after, her babbling humor soon dissolving into shock at the sight of the upstairs loft.

"Where is the artist now?" She said happily.

"Making a delivery for me."

Mrs. Sprout looked scandalized. " Remus! Making that poor boy work after he purified this beautiful apartment for you?"

Remus scowled. "You make it sound like an exorcism."

Then he laughed. "Beautiful eh?" he smirked, and she slapped him lightly on the arm, her wide eyes on the windows.

He sighed. "I told him he didn't have to work," Mrs. Sprout nodded. "But he wouldn't have it. He's stubborn that boy."

"Hmm," she hummed, annoyed. "You have looked him up? At least in the phone book?"

"You mean for his families number?" She nodded. "Sure thing, no Potters' listed in the phone book, as it wouldn't be since Harry told me his family left New York."

Remus was frustrated. He got on with Harry well, they had matching wit and an equal sense of humor, their personalities were very alike. But Remus didn't trust Harry yet, as he never trusted anyone at first sight or impression. He didn't trust Mr. Malfoy as far as he could throw him, and the fact that he wanted to trust Harry so quickly kind of scared him. He had no doubts that time would prove Harry as charismatic as he seemed, and Remus would certainly look forward to allowing that trust in the future. He changed the subject rather hastily.

"Mr. Malfoy should be arriving soon."

Mrs. Sprout scoffed. "Not likely, that man is more flaky than an English muffin."

Later, but not much later, the bell to the shop tinkled open, and Remus turned his gaze to the man standing at his door. He was tall, fit around the stomach and legs, dark, and ruggedly handsome.

He wore a brown leather jacket over his black jeans and tee-shirt. Some type of new age band was scribbled across his front, and matched the encoded patch on his jacket. His dark brown hair was woven with blond highlights and styled with spikes and layers. They matched his dark, glittering eyes. He screamed wealth, and Remus grinned at the superior yet nonchalant look on his face.

Remus hated to admit that he was hesitant to introduce himself. The man seemed to take care of his momentary problem with a lazy arrogance only a person of money could pull off. The man removed his cigarette carefully, and gave Remus the once over. He pointed his finger at Remus like he was waving around a gun.

"Flower guy, right?"

Remus humored him, and nodded.

"Flower guy."

The young man walked forward with a lopsided smile, sporting the smoke at the corner of his mouth.

"Blaise Zabini." He shook Remus' hand. "Personal assistant, therapist, secretary, and all around body slave to Draco Malfoy. I'm here in his stead."

Remus broke their loose handshake and smiled. "I'm sure Mr. Malfoy has an adequate reason for not showing up."

Blaise titled his head and squinted, looking morose.

"Broken sternum, shame really, he had the best looking chest in Manhattan."

"Oh, really?"

Blaise blew out a ring of smoke and tapped his ashes into the spider plant hanging beside him. Remus frowned.

"Mr. Malfoy and his sternum should be healed enough to move in on time, I hope..."

"Absolutely." Blaise said, dropping his cool mocking tone. "He has everything to fucking do but get on with his life."

"He sounds like a busy man," Remus said, walking around to his counter as the young man followed.

"Not really, it's all in his mind. He's certifiably insane."

"Aren't we all," Remus muttered.

Blaise was what Remus liked to think of as obnoxious at first relative impression. He was annoying, rude, conceited, and drowning in money and his own classified reputation. Remus had experience with men like Blaise and could say that the irritating inferior act was something one had to get used to.

Still, Remus humored him, as it was more that likely that the man who would be living in the upstairs apartment would be just like, if not worse than Blaise Zabini.

"Can I see it now? It had better be fucking good, we're paying a shit load of fucking money for it."

Definitely someone he'd have to get used to.

Remus was glad however, that Harry was out, since he doubted he'd be able to handle the two of them at the moment. There was no doubt in his mind Harry had a sharper tongue than Blaise. They'd get along superbly in annoying the hell out of him.

"Holy fuck." Blaise said as he walked inside the apartment. Remus nodded.

"My sentiments exactly. Suitable for Mr. Malfoy?"

"Not in the slightest," Blaise said, looking around. "But fuck this is great, very neo-activist. What, is the designer a liberal?"

"The designers the roommate. Artist."

Blaise sighed. "Liberal."

"So? Will his majesty approve?"

Remus watched as Blaise lit a cigarette, nodding to him politely. Remus refused.

"I'll make him," he said, exhaling. "He needs to get out of that fucking superficial world he's created for himself. Burn the leather bound man purse so to say."

"He has a man purse?"

"Bisexual."

They both nodded sadly.

"So where is the Vegan roommate, anyway?"

"You know, Harry is a Vegan, you generalized correctly."

They walked out of the room, making their way back down to the shop.

"Harry?" Blaise looked appalled. "He isn't some busking hobo with bad teeth and a top hat, is he?"

Remus glanced back at Blaise and grinned. "Actually, no, he should be back in a moment, if you want to meet him."

They talked for awhile, and Mrs. Sprout came out to introduce herself, thoroughly freaking Blaise out. Not only did she ask personal, and sometimes downright rude questions, but inappropriately flirted with him also. Remus liked seeing the rambunctious young man at odds with himself. He bit back his laughter.

They got along well enough, and Blaise seemed impressed with the shop and the loft. Mrs. Sprout, thankfully, did not bring up anything about Madison and David, nor any mention of Sybil in general. They talked placidly and Blaise said nothing about rent, as Remus was assuming he was going to mention later.

The bell over Remus' shop jingled.

"Dennis!" he exclaimed in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Dennis came in and sat on his stool, gazing impassively and somewhat suspiciously at Blaise.

"Who's he?"

Remus glanced at Blaise and then raised his eyebrows at the teen.

"Dennis, this is Mr. Zabini, he's here to look at the loft."

Dennis opened a bag of chips from under the counter and started munching, glancing up at Blaise.

"Great," he said sarcastically. "Where's Mr. Malfoy? I thought he was coming to look at it himself."

"Er...broken..." Remus paused.

"Sternum. Absolute tragedy, tragedy, should recover for the move though." Blaise said, examining the plant that he had violated.

"I'm so looking forward to meeting him."

Remus glared at Dennis.

"Mr. Zabini, will you excuse us for a moment? I need to talk to Dennis here."

He grabbed onto Dennis' elbow and steered him into the back room. He gave Dennis a shove and let loose a death glare.

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in school." He crossed his arms.

Dennis fidgeted nervously.

"I was Remus, I was."

"Why are you here?" He watched as Dennis' dark hair fell into his face, and his young, lithe form slouched slightly.

"I'm sick," he said quietly

"You aren't sick." Remus snapped.

Dennis was silent. The anger that had almost taken hold of Remus simmered into heavy concern. His brows furrowed.

"Are they bothering you again? Those boys?"

His young friend said nothing. Remus sighed.

"They are, aren't they? Dennis, what did they do?"

Dennis was immediately shocked into in an answer.

"Nothing! Not today, at least. They didn't do anything! It's just...since last month..."

"When they beat the crap out of you after school..."

"They just fucked with me, that's all."

"You sound like Zabini, listen, you need to tell the school about this...your parents..."

Dennis snorted. "You're kidding, right?"

"No! They might not be listening all the time, but they'll have to listen to this."

"They'll never believe me," Dennis said quietly.

"If they won't, I'll vouch for you."

"You won't Remus! You won't say anything to them!"

Remus, despite his doubts, knew he would not say anything to the Creevys' simply because he would be betraying Dennis' trust, and that was the last thing the teenager needed. He sighed heavily.

"You know I won't. But you need to do something. You have to."

Dennis was silent.

"And you can't ditch class!" Remus looked away for a moment, angry, he shook his head and gave Dennis a hopeless glare. Dennis flinched.

He calmed down, looking carefully at Dennis from his amber eyes. He put a hand on Dennis' shoulder.

"It's not fair to you, you know?"

Dennis looked up.

"You don't deserve this. There's nothing wrong with you."

"They say some stuff..."

Remus' gaze intensified. "And you believe them?"

He was alarmed when Dennis didn't say anything.

"You don't, you don't believe them..."

"I'm not stupid." Dennis snapped, head suddenly higher. "I don't think I'm anything they call me. I'm not a freaking moron, they're the one's that have problems."

"Okay, calm down." Remus lifted his hands in defense. "What do they say?"

"Stupid stuff, you know, it doesn't bother me."

"And that's why you're hiding from them, here? When you should be at school?"

"I'm not fucking hiding!" Dennis got to his feet.

Remus looked at him severely for a moment.

"Sit down."

He sat, muttering darkly and crossing his arms. Dennis wiped a hand across his eyes and looked away, glaring. Remus sighed, and walked over to where the phone hung on the wall. He picked it up, aware that Dennis was watching him carefully. He opened a drawer and pulled out a card.

"It's almost lunch," he said, and handed Dennis the phone. "How about Chinese?"

When Remus walked back into the shop, he smiled immediately, seeing that Harry was back from his delivery. As he suspected, both men were talking easily and laughing, though that odd look in Blaise's eye was a bit alarming.

They seemed to be getting along well though, considering the sarcasm and banter in their voice was purely friendly. He moved forward and greeted Harry.

"Mrs. Figg is a character."

Remus laughed. "She send back the Lilies?"

"Nope, adored the lilies, wants another dozen, actually. Hey Dennis."

Dennis had come in from the back with the phone still in his hand, and blushed outrageously when Harry waved at him.

"Hi." Dennis said flatly, before turning right around and going into the back.

Remus let out a low chuckle and walked forward to see how Harry had done. Harry handed over the checks from his buyers and smiled unsurely at where Dennis had disappeared to.

"Are you saying," Remus said. "That you got Mrs. Figg to take some kind of plant or flower from me?"

"I am," Harry answered very seriously.

Remus scratched his head.

"I've been trying for years."

Blaise huffed.

"Persuasive isn't he? I asked Mr. Potter what he did for a living, and he changed the subject so quickly I almost didn't catch it."

Harry smiled charmingly, and they laughed.

"Did you get the, 'a lot of things' too?"

"I did." Blaise's eyes glittered as he started on Harry. "I'm only wondering what 'a lot of things' entitles."

"All of which, is none of your business, Mr. Zabini." Harry said, the grin on his face securing that he wasn't at all serious. Remus poked his head into the back room when Dennis called something, he turned back.

"Dennis is getting Chinese, what do you want Harry?"

Harry looked at Remus. "Oh, wow, be right back." He went off into the back room, presumably to harass Dennis while he ordered the food.

"You're welcome to eat with us Mr. Zabini." Remus offered, and Blaise lit another cigarette.

"Who the fuck would turn down Chinese?"

So then transpired probably the strangest lunch Remus had ever had in a company of fellows. Harry and Blaise joked the entire time, and Harry defended his right as a Vegan not to eat orange chicken. Dennis blushed like crazy, Mrs. Sprout twittered accordingly, and as the old wise, but hip, overseer, Remus would say he had a pretty good time. Customers came in and greeted them with familiarity and ease, and the day was like that of any typical Monday-except of course, for the new young men that Remus held in such high respects.

After an incident with chow mein and fortune cookies, Dennis insisted that he see the loft, and they all (with the exception of Mrs. Sprout, who went back to work) clambered upstairs. Dennis was appropriately awed, and after much teasing on Remus' part, was able to compliment Harry on the room.

"Is this Draco's room?"

Blaise had found the adjoining room towards the back of the loft, and Harry traveled over there with him. "If he wants it to be, I'll move in there if he doesn't like it."

"You cleaned that up as well?" Remus asked, and Harry nodded.

"Well I didn't expect him to do it."

Blaise grinned. "I'm glad you didn't. He wouldn't have."

Suddenly, Blaise looked shocked and appalled.

"Where's the TV?"

Harry sat down on the couch and shrugged,

"Doesn't Mr. Malfoy have one?"

"Of course he does, but what if he didn't? What on earth would you do?"

"I don't watch TV." Harry said, shaking his head. "It's all bad media anyway."

Blaise came over and sat next to him, dropping his head onto the couch.

"Liberal. Draco's going to be living with a liberal."

They sat for a moment, and Blaise patted the couch nicely, "Comfy."

Harry waved to Dennis to come over and sit, and the teen moved slowly to the couch, his cheeks flaming. Blaise smirked.

Dennis sat down and Harry smiled politely. Blaise put his feet up, only to meet empty air and have them fall back down.

"You should get a coffee table."

"Remember Zabini, Mr. Malfoy has his stuff too."

Blaise tapped his chin, "Oh yeah. Well, you're settled, it'll look like a home when Draco moves in, he's a complete neat freak."

"Mr. Malfoy sounds interesting. What company does his father own?" Harry asked, curious.

"Ah shoot!" Remus suddenly exclaimed, "Harry, did a Mr. Black happen to call while I was talking to Dennis?"

Harry turned and nodded.

"He left a message, here I'll show you." He got up and made his way out of the loft.

Blaise lit a cigarette, and they all started to move back down stairs. Blaise asked Remus about how he wanted the rent paid, and they squared away the formal talk, with Remus smiling at him congenially. A customer came in and Blaise was distracted enough to look at his watch. He raised his eyebrows at the time and got out his phone. He dialed as Remus helped a stern looking woman with her hair in a tight brown bun.

"Hello?" Draco answered on the other line.

"Hey, you done yet?"

"No. As a matter of fact..."

"Great." Blaise shoved his hands in his pockets. "You should come over here tonight, meet the guy."

"What guy?" Draco asked impatiently, and Blaise only snorted.

"Can you tonight or what?"

"No! No, not tonight, tomorrow."

"You sure? Draco you've got to fucking get over here." Blaise's amused eyes found the enigma that was Harry Potter, laughing with Dennis as he sat on top of the counter. Harry got down and passed Remus the message he had written out, and Blaise smiled into the phone.

"I can't Blaise, listen, I'm off tomorrow morning, I'll be there."

"Good."

Blaise felt his grin growing as he looked around the shop. His eyes found Harry once again, and a plan formed into his mind. Draco complained on the other end, and eventually Blaise hung up. Remus came back over to talk to him, and they shook hands, seeing as Blaise pleaded that he needed to leave. He made his way out of the flower shop, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking for his driver, still smiling that all-knowing smile.


	5. Unfortunately Met

 

No matter how much he told himself, Draco Malfoy was not a happy man. He didn't generally think about anything other than work and money, and when he did manage to direct his thoughts to something more creative, they were violently stomped on by his enormous and overpowering ego. Life it seemed, revolved around the company his father owned, and was the center of his very introverted self. At night he would recite business dealings in his sleep, at dinner his mind was on the next day at work, and in the morning he felt not refreshed, but panicked and uneasy.

Now, driving to what he hoped would be a reliever of his enormous stress problem, Draco could only doubt his sanity, and that of his best friend's. How on earth would he be able to live without work? He curbed his nerves with the thought that it wasn't until after New Years, but then that only reminded him of the upcoming wedding he was supposed to attend. When he thought of the wedding, he thought of Pansy, and what marrying her would mean. Not only would he be trapped in an unwanted marriage, but sexually repressed as well. She wasn't...his...type.

When he thought of that particular subject, he grew so frustrated he thought he might cry. When he cried he felt particularly ashamed, and when he was ashamed he was depressed.

No, Draco Malfoy was not a happy man.

Though he did manage to find enjoyment in some things. He was a big believer in music, and that it could heal your mind, body, and spirit. He liked to think that yoga had some merits, and that in being a bisexual he was entitled to more experiences than others. He was aware of himself in many ways, and never did anyone see Draco Malfoy without his suit and tie, impeccably beautiful as always.

He also enjoyed driving, somewhat more cautionary than Blaise, and had chosen to take himself to the loft if only to get his courage together. Despite the simplified situation, it was a huge step for Draco, and he was damn well nervous. What would they think of him? These city people. Bohemians. His father's voice suddenly forced it's way through his head, something about low-life's and getting his act together. Draco tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel, breathing deeply.

"No, I'm not going."

He merged into the right lane and made to make a u-turn, and the mob of thoughts and feelings decided to shout at him again. He sat in the lane for a few moments, biting the side of his lip and frowning. He sat back in his seat and inhaled, straightening his suit.

A car honked behind him, moving around and giving him the finger. Draco sneered.

"I'm going," he said, then quieter. "I'm going."

He sped down the street so fast it would have made Blaise proud, especially since he broke three laws in the process. Draco turned on his radio and decided to lose it a little. All of his blase, king of the world outlook, soon vanished when he pulled up to the store. He checked the address and observed.

The outside of the shop was impressive, a sign hung that said in spindly letters, Fleur-de-lis, and underneath it said, Annuals and Perennials. It was a cleanly, old fashioned looking building, with high windows and a small stoop. When Draco looked up, he could see different colored glass on the other side. Impressive, was the best word he could think of.

He drove slowly by, watching as a man walked out of the shop, opening the door for a woman who had just been about to go inside. The man had amber-gray hair that was tied into a tail at his back, he was smiling as he propped open the door, and the woman said something to make him laugh. Draco frowned, watching the exchange before a car behind him honked. He drove forward, checking the address on his phone and matching it with the shop. There was no doubt in his mind; that had been the place.

He parked outside of the shop, carefully locking his very expensive car, and straightening his suit. Draco inhaled, and walked forward, dodging passers on the side walk and stepping into the shop. The inside was as impressive as the outside, and Draco could see customers all through out the habitats of flowers. One customer was laughing rather loudly with the amber haired man he'd seen opening the door. Each person in the store seemed to move comfortably, as if they knew the shop and the owner well.

Draco had been afraid of this. If there was one thing that made him feel left out, it was a foreign place with foreign people...who all seemed to know each other.

A scruffy looking man with a large interesting plant walked by, coming over to talk to the man and the woman. Draco watched them converse for a moment, before finding his courage to step forward.

They all looked up.

"Mr. Lupin? We talked on the phone, I'm..."

"Hey, hey, you're that rich guy's son!"

Who Draco assumed was Mr. Lupin, gave his friend a scolding look and turned his attention to Draco.

"Don't mind Dung," he briefly turned back to the raggedly dressed man. "How many times do I have to tell you? That plant is in no way a hallucinogen."

Dung scratched his chin. "How do you know?"

Remus shook his head. "Dung, that's not pot. I don't grow pot. If I grew pot, maybe I wouldn't be late on my electricity bill. It's not pot."

Dung was silent, and Draco felt his mouth twitch.

"Can you smoke it?"

Once the man had left, thankfully, without the plant, Remus turned a friendly smile onto Draco. Before he could properly introduce himself, however, the woman who had been talking to him before pushed her way in front of their outstretched hands.

"I'm Mrs. Sprout, I work here, I do the arrangements. You must be Mr. Malfoy."

She shook his hand insistently.

"Er, yes, that would be me," he tried to say politely.

Her eyes glittered unnaturally at him, and he glanced quickly from her to Remus Lupin. Remus smiled back at her in warning, not to get over excited.

Remus figured she without a doubt saw how much this man gave off a superior air. He was incredibly handsome, with sharp blonde hair and a rather unique face. His stature was long and lean, and Remus imagined Mrs. Sprout thought him one of the models in the advertisements. Remus just knew what she was thinking, and had to agree, that he and Harry were both stunningly beautiful. The pair would depress the hell out of New York.

Remus stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm.

"So Mr. Malfoy, this is the first time we've met. Though I've had the pleasure of having lunch with your friend."

"Blaise, yes, he seemed eager for me to come and meet you all."

The 'and I can't in the slightest see why' was implied in Draco's stature, and that one raised eyebrow.

Remus cleared his throat.

"The loft is completely ready for you to move in, thanks to your new roommate of course..."

"Blaise tells me he's an artist."

Remus smiled indulgently. "Of the most respected kind."

Draco made a sound in the back of his throat as he was lead to the staircase. The botanist pointed sideways.

"That's the back greenhouse, where Mrs. Sprout works. Another young man, Dennis, works here on the weekends, and that room next to it is mine."

The heir nodded, his hands sweaty as they climbed up the stairs.

"That there is the bathroom," Remus said, pointing to the small room opposite the attic door and the loft door. Draco nodded impassively and followed Remus to the front of the door. The man gave him a curious smile, before he pushed open the door to his new apartment.

At first impression, with which Draco would mostly judge anyone and anything, Draco thought that the room itself, was beautiful. The light hit the stained glass, painting pretty pictures and vibrant colors. The furniture was scarce, but acceptable, and the paint job meticulous and color complementary. Draco was rather impressed, and he showed his delight (or lack thereof) with a raised brow and a sneer.

"Oh yes, an artist indeed."

The room seemed weighted down with his sarcasm. Remus noticed it, though his smile grew instead of disappeared. Draco gazed at him suspiciously.

"Where is the infamous artist, anyway?"

"Making a delivery for me, he should be back momentarily."

Draco walked forward and farther into the loft, seemingly distracted from all talk having to do with his roommate. He took a look into his room, and the fleeting emotion of being overexcited threatened to take hold. It was perfect.

He spun around, biting his lip to keep from smiling happily. The thought of being this pleased with something was absolutely appalling. So Draco gladly took up his sour, surly self, and turned to address Remus Lupin once again.

"So, rent. I'm supposing Blaise told you the arrangements."

Remus did not seem surprised at Draco's cold tone. He brushed it off easily and answered in the curt, no nonsense voice that he usually reserved for Dennis.

"Everything is all taken care of. All this loft needs is you, Mr. Malfoy."

"Charming," Draco sneered.

The apartment, overall, was fairly clean, though Draco's hands still itched to dust and disinfect the floors and furniture. As usual, Draco took the minor (if unnoticeable) misdemeanor and let it soil his entire outlook on his new lodgings. Which only proved further that Draco was one of those very unhappy people, no matter how much he denied it, because unhappy people like Draco; wouldn't want to be happy in the first place.

Remus coughed.

"The store is open every day, early morning until afternoon, so I expect Harry will be upstairs when you get home from work."

"He works downstairs?" Draco said, surprised.

"Yes, I gave him a job, and propositioned him for rooming with you."

"What? He couldn't find a job himself? And he didn't have anywhere to live?"

Remus' silence was enough to sparkle some rage in the heir.

"What is he? A hobo!"

"No!" Remus said somewhat defensively."He just hasn't had much luck with money I suppose."

"You suppose," Draco snapped, crossing his arms.

"Well, see, I don't know him very well," Remus dead panned.

"You don't know him very well."

"Getting redundant."

Draco scowled, his ego prickling him terribly.

"How can I possibly live here with someone that could be a flea-infested street whore?"

Remus coughed down a laugh.

"Well he could couldn't he?"

The amber-haired man seemed to sober, and then said, with all seriousness.

"Yes. He could."

Which was the honest truth, seeing as Remus knew some, but still very little about Harry Potter. He felt inclined to warn Malfoy before hand, that any information about Harry would have to come from Harry.

"Fuck!" Draco cursed, beyond upset.

"Why don't you just meet him before judging."

Draco stepped forward, challenging. "Honestly, like I'd live with some crack artist slob, in insipid Bohemia, with little to no sophisticated company. Like some frivolous conceptual nut, with a martyr complex!"

"Masochist."

Draco gave a frustrated shrug, sighing. "Semantics."

"I can't believe I even thought of this!" The blond now paced, his anger evident, and did not notice Remus' diminishing patience either. He suddenly spun to face Remus again, and looked somewhat apologetic... somewhat.

"I think we will have to call this off, Mr. Lupin. There are too many factors..."

Remus crossed his arms, and raised an eyebrow.

"...I'll pay you for your trouble."

Draco made towards the door.

"...have a check sent to you in the mail..."

Remus managed to close it before the heir placed his fingertips on the doorknob. The botanist didn't look very friendly at the moment.

"I don't think you'll be going anywhere."

There was a moment when the two simply looked at each other, and Draco seemed to develop an aghast expression in place of the angry one he'd previously sported.

"Listen Lupin, you're attractive and everything, but like, fucking twenty times older than me..."

"No! No!" Remus shook his head and looked disgusted himself. He brushed it off and glared at the young man before him.

"Now you listen," and even Draco couldn't move underneath that stare. "I know, without a doubt, that you came here today expecting to talk your way out of this arrangement."

"I-"

"And I know," Remus talked over him. "That you're a pompous, neurotic, spoiled brat, that has no idea what some people have to go through to be as lucky as you."

Remus sighed. "Though somehow, if it meant giving up my happiness...my ability to enjoy life...then I wouldn't want to be you for even a moment."

Draco flinched.

"You're going to go through with this," Remus nodded. "You're going to live here for a year and realize all you've been missing while underneath your comfy little rock. Do you understand me?" The heir looked about to burst with anger, though somehow, was able to calm, and face Remus stoically.

"Is it that noticeable?"

"Your discontent? The room drips with it."

Draco cursed, and turned around to examine the loft once more. He was quiet, thinking over Remus had said.

"If you can do this, then you're the better one for it. Play the conceptual nut, if anything it will give you a new outlook on life." Remus prompted.

Draco glared at him accusingly. "Progressive."

Remus rubbed his temples. "I'm so tired of politics."

They both made toward the door, but Draco stopped him. In a somewhat understanding and conceding way, he reached out to shake Remus' hand. He nodded at the man, and the man nodded back. They were on the same level.

Downstairs was bustling with life, and though Draco felt a bit overwhelmed, he did not dare show it. Mrs. Sprout talked animatedly with the customers, and the time twirled about to twelve o'clock. Remus showed him around a bit more, and gladly explained the back greenhouse and whether or not dead plants had any diseases or viruses. Draco frowned, he was not neurotic.

He actually, hesitantly, decided that he liked Remus Lupin. He was an interesting sort of person, the kind that Draco would have looked at with slight envy, and a whole lot of confusion. Remus reminded him of the days before his father's business pretty much ran his life. Remus reminded him of youth.

When Draco was a teen and thought he would be given the world. When lofts and art districts and wine glasses seemed like the happiest sort of life. When he looked to classical music for inspiration, for poetry; for inspiration. Somehow, Draco decided that Remus reminding him involuntarily of these things, was in fact, a good thing. Those dreams had made him somebody.

Truthfully, with all of his heart, Draco was ecstatic over the thought of living in such a place. Of experiencing something new. He was excited about meeting new people, meeting new things, but most of all, about meeting himself. He honestly wanted this, contrary to popular belief, he needed this interesting soul search. He felt inclined to let it happen.

They finally came out of the greenhouse, talking easier now, and Mrs. Sprout latched herself onto Draco's arm.

"So Mr. Malfoy. What say you on the loft? Devastatingly impressive, isn't it?"

Draco looked down at the hand on his arm and raised an eyebrow.

"I wouldn't quite put it like that but..."

He caught Remus glare, and the botanist said.

"He adored it Mrs. Sprout."

"Oh lovely!" She twittered. "Harry worked so very hard on it, that pretty little thing, oh! And he fixed your plant rack Remus. Where he found the time, is knowledge to me."

Draco looked over at the plant rack in question. It looked as good as new.

"He seems to work obsessively, doesn't he?" Remus said, then nudged Draco. "See, you have something in common after all."

Mrs. Sprout giggled uncontrollably, and Draco glared.

"Harry come back yet?"

She stopped enough to smile at them happily. "Oh yes, he's upstairs, dropping off that pack of his. Remus..." she started. "He carries it around and it's awfully tattered, I supposed we get him a new one, but he protested quite a bit."

"Did he?" Remus raised an eyebrow, somewhat distracted.

"Oh yes, he clings to it really, ever notice he never leaves a place without it? Strange..."

"I think he would be strange, being unemployed and homeless. Not to be taken into consideration the fact he's an artist."

Draco said artist as if it were an epidemic.

"Point noted," Remus said over Mrs. Sprout's giggles.

"Oh but no, Mr. Malfoy, he's completely charming, a lovely young man really...Sybil!"

She flew off in the direction of her beaded friend, who saw her as well and practically squealed with excitement. They immediately jumped into conversation.

"You said you had a garage?"

Remus came out of his stupor and nodded. "Downstairs."

They came to the garage, which had enough room for perhaps two cars. One, Remus' shabby Honda, was parked easily next to a fair few gardening tools and supplies.

"The only person who parks here, usually, is Mr. Black, our benefactor."

"You have a benefactor?" Draco asked.

"Yes. We are an independent business, but the city requires we have a backer for finances and such."

Draco looked pensive."Madison and David would be able to do that for you. Though I doubt we'd take the time for such a small entrepreneurship."

Remus shook his head. He would have to get used to Draco's off-hand insults. It seemed the man couldn't help it.

"You can park here, I saw that expensive car you drive, and I wouldn't want it keyed while on the sidewalk."

"Are you serious?" Draco looked shocked.

They walked back up the stairs, and Draco immediately moved his car into the garage. It took a while to find the entrance, which was cut through an alley around the back, but eventually, he came up from the garage with a little more certainty his car was safe.

"Everything alright?"

"Superb."

"Harry's in the greenhouse," Mrs. Sprout said. "I'll go get him."

Draco's stomach dropped, and he felt a little disconcerted. The customers around him gazed on in interest, and a few engaged Remus into talk. Mrs. Sprout came out of the greenhouse, giggling merrily, turning to talk to the man behind her.

It was then that Harry Potter made himself aware to Draco Malfoy, and inside his very sheltered, very distracted mind...Draco allowed himself to gasp.

The heir saw what everyone in the shop had seen before, only to a higher quality, seeing as his body at once responded to the gorgeous, eye-pleasing man in front of him. Harry had a rag slung over his shoulder, and was wearing a simple white shirt and jeans. Jeans that hung on him in a decidedly tantalizing fashion. He had the brightest eyes Draco had ever seen, that is, except for his own that were a silver-grey. Harry was shorter than him, and slightly more feminine, though not very, and almost unnoticeably gay. He had too much going for him to be flamboyant.

Draco was caught by the hair, Harry's hair that twisted about his neck and flew in all directions. How one person could be as tempting as Harry Potter seemed at that moment, Draco had no clear idea. Though the novelty soon wore off.

"Mr. Malfoy," Harry said somewhat impassively, and made to shake hands. Draco looked down at Harry's hand, covered in dirt and soil, and shivered slightly in disgust. He shook it anyway, and Harry seemed endlessly amused.

"Harry," Remus smiled. "Draco is all set to move in today." He gave a glance at the slightly tense blond. "He was very pleased with the loft."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Was he?"

Draco sneered. "Immeasurably."

"I can see."

Remus cleared his throat, quickly.

"If everything can be arranged in time, I expect Draco to be moving in tonight. Isn't that right? Or do you intend to stay at work..."

Draco shook his head. "No, I'll stay tonight. After all, we should get to know each other better," he said, turning to look at Harry.

Did I just say that? Draco thought furiously, Harry frowned, and he knew, just knew, he'd come off as a flirt. He was absolutely appalled.

"Wonderful," Remus said, and they both noticed his gleeful tone. Harry gazed at him impassively, once more.

"So you're an heir to a company of certain prestige I hear."

"Big words for one so little."

Harry smiled. "Ouch. What's the name of this tyrannical establishment, then?"

"Madison and David, of course."

Harry's smile instantly vanished. The shop suddenly went frosty, and Draco raised an eyebrow. Remus was surprised, he'd never seen Harry so tense and cold before, and felt more than saw Mrs. Sprout leer at them in obsessive interest.

"Madison and David," he said slowly. "Of course."

"I take it you've heard of us."

Harry laughed, somewhat bitterly.

"With all the talk of corruption and intrigue? How could I miss it."

Draco smirked, a bit defensively. "And here I was under the impression artists had very little realistic interests."

"Funnily enough," Harry hissed. "I thought the same of business men."

Remus choked down a laugh.

"I take it, it will be interminably intriguing living with such a...person of self-involvement." Harry said calmly, "Though I am a little hard to live with as well."

Draco knew a challenge when he heard one.

"Oh but have you lived with me Mr. Potter? I doubt difficult would describe my tendencies accurately."

"You're modest."

Remus chose this a good time to cough and interrupt.

"Yes well, we all know how hard living together can be." At their disturbed glares he said again quickly, "Platonically of course."

Harry smirked."It can't be that grueling, after all," he cast a purely antagonizing glance at Draco. "I'm sure Mr. Malfoy is no different then the other victims I've encountered."

"Victim?" Draco spat.

Harry frowned. "Well you are aren't you? You don't seem like the happiest of guys."

"I'm happy." Draco said rather defensively, and Harry smiled.

The heir suddenly smirked. "I'm happy enough. There are things that would make me happier, of course."

Harry scowled. "Noted."

"Actually, I think I'll quite enjoy living with you. We all know how deluded, creativity induced, people can be," he gave the brunette the once over.

"Same to you, I suppose." Harry said, and narrowed his eyes. "Walking money tends to spend itself on brainless indulgences...and ugly suits."

Draco straightened his suit, and glared.

"Well!" Remus managed to interrupt once more. "I think it's time Draco get the loft set up for his lodgings tonight."

Though the heir looked perturbed at having to do manual labor, he would not protest in front of Harry. Draco watched the air crackle between them, and Harry gave him an innocent smile, before walking back into the greenhouse, giving Draco a clear view of his backside. He cursed and turned away.

"Let me just call for some help. I take it you won't mind Blaise coming over again..."

"Not at all," Remus said pleasantly. A customer grabbed his attention, and Draco managed to sneak outside. He took a deep breath, and squared himself inwardly. He would not think about him. He would not think about him. He would not- the vision of Harry Potter danced in front of his eyes, and he felt his libido give a kick. Draco got out his phone and dialed, cursing the entire time.

"Hello, wanton Chinese food."

He hated his life.

"Blaise! This is all your fault."


	6. On Love

The sun steadily rose over the horizon as Remus watched the steam rise up from his coffee. He yawned and shook his head, barely able to believe that someone could get up earlier than him. The very expensive sports car that had been in his garage was now gone, and it wasn't even half past five. He hoped the night was productive for the heir, though all that work wouldn't leave much time for sleep. He yawned again, stretching his neck muscles and walking out to observe the Magnolia that took up the back part of the greenhouse.

Remus reminisced as he carefully checked their waxy leaves, a slow smile working on his face in remembrance of yesterday's meeting. He hadn't thought Draco and Harry had liked each other much; the tension had been heavy. What he found odd, and he let the frown show on his face as he picked through the soil at the base of the tree- was Harry's shifting attitude with one mention of Madison and David. Sure, he wasn't fond of the billion dollar company either, though neither did he turn to ice at the sound of its name.

He vaguely wondered if Mrs. Sprout had been brainwashing him, because it seemed the company had more and more enemies as the days passed by. Though Remus hadn't thought Harry prejudice, nor easily swayed when it came to personal opinion; it was only logical to assume he had previous, and somewhat intense, history with the infamous firm. Which only proved that the botanist knew next to nothing about his new employee. He doubted if anyone knew everything when it came to Harry and his secrets.

Remus walked back out into the shop, aware of the now familiar prisms on the floor and the spreading sun. Somehow, Harry having his own mysterious buried truths didn't seem like a bad sitcom or romance novel, to Remus it was decidedly frustrating, and a bit scary. The amber-eyed man knew insanity first hand, and had met mentally unbalanced people before. He had a bit of experience in manipulation as well, so no doubt he would know if he were being played the fool. The trouble with the rather astounding man he'd taken in, was that he was perfectly likeable, and besides the whole Vegan business; not at all insane.

As it was evident thanks to their sharp verbal spar, Remus was sure the two would prove to be a pleasing source of amusement in the following year. He only hoped they didn't strangle each other, or come to him for poisonous substances that could be slipped into someone's drink.

He watered his plants, and carefully observed the rack that Harry had put back together. It looked as good as new and not likely to collapse ever again, which saved Remus time and money. He wondered if Harry sculpted much, as was seen in many artists, and particularly what else the young man could do. He was fairly sure Harry was born artist and artisan.

His thoughts continued along the same lines for most of the morning, and though he was aware he was thinking entirely too much about his employee, Remus still tried to sort out the charming brunette. He made an appearance as soon as the open sign hung in the window.

"Nice morning isn't it?"

Remus took a sip of his restored coffee. "You're in a good mood."

Harry smiled, his cheeks dimpling.

"Same as usual."

"What did Mr. Malfoy have to say to you yesterday?"

The young man eyed him carefully, grinning.

"You know very well we weren't that charmed with each other. He didn't say a word after our meeting."

"And I'm guessing you thought that was rude," Remus smirked.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Of course, he could have at least tried again."

"Would you have given him an inch?"

"Absolutely not."

Harry had a way of avoiding a topic that was almost unnoticeable to Remus. He moved and talked as if he were in constant motion, and though unreadable in many ways, Harry had a way of saying something without saying anything at all.

"What do you have against him, anyway?"

The young man gave him a bewildered look.

"Have against him? Nothing, what makes you say that?"

"Nothing really," Remus said. "You just went cold on him."

"What do you mean?"

He backtracked, giving Harry a look. "Nothing, never mind."

Harry got a bit frustrated, and was silent for a time.

"I wasn't cold, was I?"

Remus' eyebrows nearly disappeared.

"You were cold. I thought the thermostat had broken again..."

Harry started. "We have air conditioning?"

"...And then I realized we didn't have a thermostat..."

"I wasn't cold. Honestly."

Remus put a hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry. But you were. Why the resentment towards Madison and David?"

He thought that maybe he imagined Harry's face grow pale, and looked closer only to see a bit of panic in those bright beryl eyes.

"No reason," Harry said quickly. "Newspapers aren't too nice to them."

The botanist moved behind the counter and raised an eyebrow, his conscience singing to him in a sing song voice, you're lying!

"You immediately jumped on him when you heard where he worked."

Harry shrugged. "He was being cocky."

"And you weren't?"

"Not at all," he shook his bushy head. "I was actually being nice."

Remus laughed.

"Remind me not to get into a sarcastic repartee with you, then."

"By all means."

In an effort to interrupt their casual talk, the bell over the shop tinkled merrily, and in walked Mrs. Sprout. She looked positively gleeful.

"You will not believe what the night has cooked up!"

Harry and Remus looked at each other.

"Try us," said Remus.

Mrs. Sprout shook her head and placed a hand on her upper waist, grinning wildly. "You do remember the incident with Miss Bell's wedding? Well turns out that very night of the reception, her Uncle in law decided to let slip a little secret!"

Remus frowned and Harry scrunched up his nose.

"Well!" Mrs. Sprout pushed when they remained silent. "Don't you want to know what happened?"

"Must we?" Harry suddenly said. "It's their business..."

Mrs. Sprout looked as if she'd been slapped.

"Their business? Their business!" She walked forward and poked a finger into Harry's chest, "I'll have you know it's our duty as concerned citizens to know about the people we must interact with!"

Harry rubbed his breastbone. "Alright..."

"And Remus should know better than anyone!" Mrs. Sprout continued. "friends come to him frequently for advice, guidance, news..."

"Alright...I understand..."

"It's not their business!" she cried. "It's our business! And it's our job to know everything about everyone."

Remus coughed, not the only one to notice her long glance at Harry when she emphasized 'everyone'.

"Okay, what happened?"

Mrs. Sprout perked up immediately. "It seems, and I heard from a reliable source..."

"Sybil," Remus said shortly.

"Of course. Anyway, it came to my ears that the groom was having an affair with one of his bride's sisters!"

They did their best to look shocked.

A little later into the morning, Remus sent Harry on a delivery and then took to conversing with the customers. All and all, it seemed to be a regular day in the shop, as nothing besides Mrs. Sprout's gossip proved as entertaining. Around noon, Remus' benefactor and long time acquaintance stepped through the door.

He was a very free-spirited man, a bit of a shirker, but otherwise a good friend of Remus'. Sirius Black, who drove a motorcycle and tried to make an honest living, had met Remus when he had first gotten out of prison. A large fortune had waited for Mr. Black, seeing as his family was rich to the point of bursting. The black haired man had honestly tried to maintain his money, and was the founder of the Restoration project going on in New York.

"Remus," Sirius said enthusiastically, giving him a tight hug. "How are things?"

"Fine here Sirius, and you?"

"Dashing, really, I hear business is booming over here..." He gave a look around with his crystal blue eyes. "And I see I've heard right."

Remus was unable to keep a bright smile off of his face.

"Same as usual. How are you, and I mean really."

Sirius Black was the rehabilitated ex, and Remus still found it in his heart to care for the man...even though integrity and a lot of money hadn't kept him out of trouble.

"I'm well Remus," he said, and gave him a thump on the shoulder. "Let's have some coffee and talk a while, yeah?"

Remus nodded and asked Mrs. Sprout to take over the counter in his momentary absence. She immediately bounced over with flashes in her eyes, ready to chat animatedly to the customers. Remus went into the back and made them both a cup of steaming caffeine, before asking Sirius to sit down.

"You haven't gotten into any trouble, I'm hoping." The botanist smirked, taking a long draft of his coffee. It smarted his tongue.

"Non at all." Sirius assured, slicing his hand in the air; which really wasn't any assurance at all... "If I know you, you've gotten into something new the last time we talked."

They had lived together shortly, in a rather swank apartment, until Remus had decided to open the shop. Sirius had supported it, gotten it on its wobbly feet, and pushed a considerable amount of joy into Remus' life.

"You bet I have,"and he leaned forward. Sirius looked around cautiously, his striking, and sometimes overbearing character, bloomed in front of his long time friend. He gave Remus an open stare.

"Dung tells me you've been growing pot."

Remus feared the man would never grow up.

"You shouldn't be around that Dung Fletcher, he's got serious issues if he thinks I've been growing dope in my flower shop..."

"He doesn't Remus, he's just confused."

Remus shook his head.

"So where are you kipping now? Have you bought another house?"

Sirius shook his head. "Another? No, I spun the last one and lost the other in a rather nasty lawsuit." Remus flinched.

"Lawsuits equal..."

"Government...equals..."

"Conspiracy."

The amber-eyed man smiled, it was good to be near an old friend again. He and Sirius talked for a little while longer, went over some bills, and then Sirius excused himself, seeing as he had a hot date, and the customers demanded attention. Though the visit had put him in a good mood, and Remus found the day to be particularly pleasing.

The visit had however, spurred continuous memories of the life he had left behind. Meeting longtime friends again, always seemed to have that effect on Remus, and he wasn't so sure he liked it much. With thoughts of Sirius came their meeting, and how through a friend they had been acquainted. Peter, his aloof and terribly shy mate from early childhood, had introduced them, and they had hit it off miraculously.

Time had seemed to go faster and faster after that, and Remus found himself slowly simmering down. His optimism, perchance, did not waver as his energy did, and Remus kept up that life was able to be lived. Yet Sirius brought back the usual conflicting thoughts he thought of in bed every night. For Sirius had been his last long term relationship, and though he had resolved to stay single and focus on his shop, he found himself wondering at the place by his side, and the shoulder that needed a hand. Despite that heavy and slightly thoughtless decision, Remus was horribly aware of how being alone had its effects on the brain. He decided he didn't like it much.

As a matter of fact, the same day Harry Potter had showed up on his stoop, looking disheveled and positively glorious, Remus had conceded that dating would not go amiss. It was Harry that had distracted him into forgetting about his need for a spouse, at least for a little while...and Remus had been so caught up in figuring out the boy, getting to know him, that it had simply slipped his mind.

In a way, he thought he should thank Sirius, if only because he had pushed the botanist a bit to get moving, and now Remus was unsure. Dating was cruel, embarrassing, and rarely pleasant. The novelty almost always wore off, and though the amber-eyed man wasn't for denial, he had thought more often than not, that a little unhealthy objection seemed better than the sordid truth. Love was denial to him anyway, seeing as everyone was bit crazy when emotionally devoted.

Remus stopped his watering and raised an eyebrow, cynic.

Though he was entitled to his own negativity as well. The world wasn't all annuals and perennials, as his mother used to say, and Remus chuckled as he turned to help a woman who was indecisive about standard flower food. At least, he thought, cynics had a good tongue for sarcasm...

When Harry finally got back from his delivery, he and Remus joked about for a bit, seeing as Harry had met Dung that morning and had been endlessly amused. Harry's wide smile was young and beautiful, and to Remus he was something to admire. No wonder Dennis had liked him so...Dennis!

Suddenly, as if his brain had mashed together to show him what he'd missed, Remus remembered the not so good situation with their young friend. He had a flash of inspiration, much like his idea that Harry fix up the loft (which had been pure genius, he had to admit) and he managed to gather his reasoning. He fixed his decision with firm religion. Smiling, he observed the brunette closely, and then decided to broach the subject with him.

"Listen Harry, I need your advice."

It was Harry's smooth ability to influence people, that made Remus bring up this very serious subject to an ultimate stranger. He was rather betraying trust in asking the brunette, but worry seemed to override any regret. Here, Remus would admit he was at a direct dead end. The particular problem, recently addressed and very nearly escalating to a climax, was in fact having to do with their young friend, Dennis.

"It's about Dennis."

Harry's brows furrowed in curiosity, and polite concern.

"Sure, what's happening?"

Yes, Harry was perfect.

Remus placed his hand on the dip in Harry's back and led him behind the counter, casting a wary look to the arguing couple in the corner. One woman was insisting on some sort of arrangement (the kind Mrs. Sprout called 'experiment flowers') while the man conceded that the roses were aptly appropriate. Remus would have normally found it funny if he wasn't in such a serious meeting with his employee.

They walked into the back and Remus turned to face him fully, aware suddenly of the tension in his gut. He smiled, if only to gather a bit of time to logically place his words, before starting in doubtfully.

"I promised Dennis I wouldn't say anything to anyone, but well, it's important that someone do something."

"Is Dennis in trouble?" Harry said calmly.

"No, not necessarily, it's difficult." He gathered his bearings. "Look, Dennis is having problems at school. Some kids have been bugging him..."

"Did you contact the principal?" he advised, but Remus waved him off.

"No, his principal's crazy. I doubt he'll want to know about common bullies..."

Harry scratched his head.

"Well what exactly have they done to him?"

"They beat the crap out of him, called him names...normally I would tell Dennis to fight back..." The artist looked shocked, "Remus? Not a pacifist?"

Remus smiled and then sighed dramatically. "Just because I own a flower shop..."

"Because you own a flower shop. Now what else?"

"I can't tell him to fight back, to hold his ground, one; because I never could, and two, well, I'm worried for him."

"He doesn't believe what they say..." Harry shook his head quickly.

"He says he doesn't, I don't know." Remus leaned against the table and shaped his face into calmly pensive. He crossed his arms. "His parents work a lot."

Understanding seemed to dawn on Harry's face, which momentarily confused Remus into distraction.

"Oh," Harry said. "So you think he believes these kids because his parents forget about him. Self-esteem...?"

Remus sighed. "Non-existent."

Harry swayed his head from side to side, as if weighing the situation. "Any siblings...?"

The botanist grinned madly. "One. You're good at this."

"The ESP comes in handy, really. Brother a big-shot?"

"The favorite."

Harry shook his head. "Not good." He leaned on the table next to Remus, and they glanced at each other. Remus looked down at the floor, tracing a few scattered stem trimmings with his eyes. He glanced at the boy beside him.

"What should I do? I've betrayed his trust by even telling you."

Harry bit his lip. "Why wouldn't he want me to know?"

Remus gave him a look, how hilarious it was that Harry had no idea...he watched the boy's body language for a moment. The confusion was there, the interest, and the worry.

Remus suddenly wanted to cuff Harry on the side of the head and laugh like crazy. He hadn't felt so young, and so energetic, in a very long time. He wondered what Harry Potter was doing to him.

"Isn't it obvious? He's got a magnificent crush on you."

Harry tilted his head. "What?"

Remus switched his stance, putting his foot atop the other and leaning back.

"It's true. Haven't you seen the looks he gives you when you suddenly enter the room?"

"Looks?" he asked. "What looks?"

"The cow eyes, the unbounded admiration, the lust, the desire..."

"Alright, alright." Harry looked down as Remus laughed, and then looked back up through his bangs, smirking.

"You're joking, aren't you?"

Remus chuckled still, giving a one shouldered shrug.

"I'm not, everyone sees it."

"I don't see it."

"Then you're blind."

Harry smiled at him, then did a mocking gesture of intense thought.

"I did wear glasses when I was younger..."

Remus stood forward and reached out to tighten the bow around the arrangement in front of him. Mrs. Sprout had missed it.

"Did you? I can't imagine you with glasses."

He turned to see Harry scowl.

"I looked like a bug."

Remus lifted both of his hands in defense, laughing. "In order to preserve your self-confidence and security, I am choosing not to comment."

Harry picked a stem off the ground and threw it into the excess bag, smiling. They indulged in a comfortable silence. Finally, Harry took a much needed breath and turned to look at him somberly.

"How about I talk to Dennis?"

Remus bit his cheek. "He'll be uncomfortable."

"And he'll know you told me." Harry said knowingly. "I actually don't think he'll mind. I don't think he'll do anything so much as..."

Harry was silent.

"...maybe if I just let him know I'm there if he needs me..."

The amber-eyed man nodded. "That might be best."

"He shouldn't have to deal with this. He doesn't deserve it."

Remus stopped short, looking at Harry with complete seriousness. Harry played with the roll of red ribbon, his face relaxed and thoughtful. The ribbon twirled around his fingers, shaking the long stems of the pink roses that were bundled tightly together. Harry moved his foot, and his sneakers brushed against the floor, his weight shifted, and he let a simple trickle of breath slip from his lips.

Harry did not slouch as he stood there, and he did not seem gangly or even too short. His fine ebony hair curled around his ear, where it splayed against sun-tanned skin. Those intense eyes were fixated on the texture beneath his fingers, and the only ruffled thing about the boy in front of him...was his rogue and windswept hair.

"No," Remus finally said. "He doesn't deserve it."

It wasn't until the afternoon that Harry was able to talk to Dennis.

The teenager had walked into the shop, looking sulky yet determined. He had a way of walking that spoke of lacking self-assurance and young authority. Remus watched as Dennis came over to him and sat heavily on the stool with a sigh. Young people certainly were interesting, Remus thought, they seemed to have a way of knowing things they weren't told, and their intuitive nature seemed endless. At least some. At least Dennis...who knew inadequacy, embarrassment, and emotion, was on the brink of adulthood, just by knowing what he wasn't supposed to know.

He was suddenly sure that Harry talking to him was a fabulous idea. They were a lot a like, Harry a bit more sure and confident, Dennis still maturing and desperate for approval. That was after all, their greatest common factor? Remus wasn't blind, and he wasn't stupid. He was very aware of the reason Harry had stayed with them so long. He was aware that Harry felt guilty and ashamed that Remus had been so nice to him. Remus was aware that at any moment...when Harry felt he'd fulfilled his debt to him...that Harry would leave. And Harry would not come back.

As he observed the two boys talking, he felt very sure that all would be well in the flower shop very soon. So a smile lit his face, and he let it show when Harry came back to him, grinning because Remus was.

"How did it go?"

Harry shrugged, eyeing him, before grabbing his arm and walking towards the door. They met the sidewalk with assurance, as it was busily swept by clicking feet and scuffling trainers. Harry crossed his arms and leaned against the building.

"It isn't resolved, Dennis won't do anything about it..."

"What did he say?"

Harry looked out at the traffic, his eyes bright.

"The same thing he said to you I expect. He said he'd talk to me, and I told him I'd help him anyway I could."

"You would?"

The brunette smiled.

"If I could."

They were silent.

"Then what did he say?"

Harry smiled, stuffing his hands into his mousy and tilting his head. "He asked me about Draco Malfoy."

Remus tried not to let his laughter show through, though it was entirely impossible. Harry made to swat at him.

"Shut up," he grinned a bit confusedly. "He was rather forceful."

"I can imagine," and Remus impersonated Dennis. "'What's going on with you and that asshole.'"

Harry stood straight and grinned. "that was perfect."

"I know him well."

The traffic zoomed about around them, and Remus blinked against the afternoon sun. He watched as people passed by, while they remained unnoticed and silent. Across the horizon of Remus' vision, he could see high buildings, apartments, huge sky scrapers, and the general public as they made their way through the day. As such, New York was a wonderful place.

"You seem to know many people pretty well, Mr. Lupin," Harry suddenly said. "You're kind to everyone, you think of people before they think of you..."

Harry trailed away, gazing past the street and onto the distance. Though Remus was taken aback by such a truthful admission, he didn't try and show it.

"But what is it you want?"

Remus looked at his shoes, his heart suddenly very heavy. He wanted love, as much as he disliked the word...he wanted companionship, and friendship, and pleasure. He just hadn't found what he'd been searching for...for so long. No one had asked him what he'd wanted in a very long time. He even confessed to himself that he wasn't surprised Harry had picked up on his loneliness. Harry was damned interesting...

"I want something inaccessible."

"Love is not inaccessible. You just have to find it."

Remus raised his eyebrows, endlessly shocked. "I find it, and then it eludes me."

Harry smiled. "Let it come to you."

They both suddenly broke into laughter. "We're a walking cliche!" Remus managed to choke out, and Harry laughed with him. "What happened?"

"We must have made a wrong turn somewhere."

"To think, I thought I could trust you not to lead me astray..." Harry joked.

On perfect timing, Mrs. Sprout poked her head out of the shop. Her eyes hungry.

"Who's leading who astray?"

Night came to the loft, and with it brought no Draco Malfoy to its doors. Remus hadn't seen the man all day, and suspected that work had held him up. It was too bad, they had planned to go to the diner for dinner, a tradition Remus would have liked to share with Malfoy. They all walked down to the restaurant together, him, Dennis, Harry and Mrs. Sprout, a great company on a great evening. They laughed and ate and generally celebrated being the devastatingly wonderful people that they were...and Remus found it was more than he could ever ask for.


	7. Returning Friends

"Draco? What do you think of this one?"

Turning to look at his fiancé, the blond caught a glimpse of pink and white trim, before cringing in disgust. Pansy rotated the china in her hands thoughtfully, her straight black hair tied into a convenient bun, and her blouse expertly pressed. She wore a simple gray skirt, and high black heels, showing off her long milky legs. Her blouse was low, and her makeup heavy around her dark glittering eyes.

She turned and gave Draco a red lipped smile, her beautiful face glowing in the light of the formal porcelain shop they were currently shopping in. Pansy raised an eyebrow at the salesman in front of her, who had tact enough to speak respectfully and slowly to the couple. He looked as if he was about to explode with excitement. Her presence, however, had a way of stopping people short, since she was both imposing and stunning at the same time.

Pansy turned back to him, holding up the dish, and Draco nodded indifferently. She smiled at him, not quite the smile Draco had seen her give friends or family, but a smile reserved for him. It made his stomach churn.

She asked the salesman if there were anymore selections, and they started to walk down the long store to the different cabinets of china. Draco didn't necessarily hate shopping, in fact, he quite liked it...though buying things for a wedding that kept him awake at night wasn't his idea of enjoyment. Pansy seemed content enough, if only a bit rude to the people they encountered, and more often than not, made the decisions as to pretty much everything they bought. Draco was only happy Pansy's mother was too busy to come with them.

He watched as his soon-to-be wife pestered the salesman about the price, seeing as Pansy was considerably cheap, even for a woman of wealth. Her father was as much a business man as Lucius Malfoy himself, though the two men did not get along as well as both families would like. The match, however, seemed infallible in more ways than one. Draco and Pansy were admired as the perfect couple, as famous for their money and timeless scandal, the two had been accepted as a match for a long time running. It was something the most ignorant could foresee.

Yet, undeniably, the young Mr. Malfoy did not particularly agree with the rest of the world. As it would have been clear if one close friend or family member would truly notice the frown on his face, or the nervous eyes, and or the sarcastic give-and-take in various matters of discussion. It would have been painfully obvious to all those that looked properly, that in no way was the blond ready or willing to marry such a person. Such a person of high demand.

He might even argue that Pansy felt the same, and that she was being trapped into an unforgiving arrangement as well. Yet how could he ignore that open smile, the shining eyes, and other sorts of trite visions of love? In all inward and outward appearances, Miss Parkinson was very much so willing. As Draco was very much so trapped...he would not break her heart.

She was in no way a disappointment to the family, in fact, she was her father's deepest joy. He seemed completely unresistant in having his daughter marry young, and for money. A match made in heaven, Draco thought bitterly, as he dropped the blue trim Dynasty wear with little caution, and it would have bounced off the table if he hadn't caught it in time. The sound echoed down the hall of cabinets, and other employees and couples turned to stare. He smirked.

No, in no way was Pansy a disappointment, she was beautiful, well-mannered, and independent. She was lacking in the range of creative intelligence, but they neither noticed nor minded her in-the-box thought. After all, a house wife didn't need to be creative. He made sure to handle the china a bit more carefully, and a nervous worker slipped by and grabbed the set from him completely. He would have been offended if he hadn't had been so relieved.

Ever since that fateful day at the flower shop, Draco had been in complete unease. Whether it was the general atmosphere of the place, or his frustrating meeting with his new roommate, Draco didn't know. What he did intend to sort out, was the mess his brain had become after thinking long and hard about the next few months. His co-workers had gone into chaos mode when they had heard about his leave of absence after the New Year. Draco had since then been so jammed with work that when he did finally get back to the flower shop, everyone was asleep, as he should have been at that ungodly hour.

Regardless of the time he spent at work, the pressure of the wedding, and his most depressing thoughts in general, Draco felt unsure of himself for the first time in a long time. Always, he was the prodigal son. He was considered the image of his father, handsome and horrendously wealthy...Draco was invariably sure of himself. Yet, one meeting with a beautiful, interesting, absolutely infuriating, ugh...he grinded his teeth. After one meeting, he steamed, everything had fallen completely a part. Who was this man to come into Draco Malfoy's life and ruin everything? And for that reason, Draco worked longer and stayed clear of the loft during waking hours.

He had not told Blaise of his internal dilemma, though he wouldn't doubt his best friend knew already. Blaise was smart...well, he was progressing, seeing as that girlfriend of his was doing wonders for his brain functioning. Draco had even harbored hope that Hermione and Pansy would get along. Such dreams were not meant to be, and they hated each other with a desperate passion.

Draco looked at the set they were buying impassively. He tried thinking that maybe it wasn't a wedding set, that maybe they were just throwing another shindy at the Waldorf, or perhaps a personal gathering of firm directors and business sharks...the kind with tinkling glasses, polite laughter, and hanging pearls. The kind of parties Draco used to watch from the air vent in the kitchen attic.

"I was thinking steel blue for the bridesmaid dresses, and just having their hair down instead of up. Mother will positively adore that."

No, definitely a wedding.

Draco's pocket rang, and he excused himself from the counter to walk by the glass doors of the shop. Upon answering, he was horribly disappointed he hadn't ignored the call, seeing as it was Nott, calling about the files on six of their new clients. Draco instructed Nott on where to file the separate pieces of information, and to place the personal forms on his father's desk. Nott liked to make sure Draco was 'absolutely sure' about everything he did.

"...great...great, are you absolutely sure?"

Pansy walked over to him, the clerk walking her out of the shop courteously, and they walked down the block a little. Even though he knew it was wrong, he still stalled with Nott to get himself out of any necessary talk with his fiancé.

"Nott, I'm sure, alright. Make sure my father gets that information."

"Okay. Oh, Mr. Zabini has been looking for you..."

Draco cursed silently.

"Where is he?"

There was a pause in the conversation and Draco was sure Nott was looking at Blaise at that very moment. He imagined his best friend was sitting rather rudely on top of Nott's desk, smoking a cigarette...looking menacing...

"He's actually right here boss...he's...wait...hey!"

"Hey, buddy."

Blaise sounded highly amused, and a little bit tipsy. Draco winced a bit, having tried to ignore Blaise as much as possible ever since the loft debacle. He had no doubt that the man was tickled to bits over the 'meeting' as Draco had dubbed it. He heaved a sigh.

"Blaise."

"Draco, it's almost as if you've been ignoring me. You wouldn't do that, would you?"

"Blaise..."

"Because Millie told me you didn't have your cell phone today, and then I caught Nott here calling you about some papers..."

"That you're sitting on!" cried Nott from the background.

"I am not shitting on them, have some fucking manners. Anyway..." Blaise tuned back to their conversation. "I was just wondering if you were going with us tonight..."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

He could practically hear Blaise smirk as Pansy placed a wrapped box on top of the stack he was carrying one handed. She gave him a dirty look.

"Well that's a shame. Though I'm pretty sure you're going."

Draco looked heavenward.

"...that is unless you can't wait to get back to your roommate."

"I'm out with Pansy, Blaise. We're shopping..."

"Are the bridesmaids wearing black?"

"You would wish."

Blaise sniggered. Draco barely acknowledged that Pansy had set off towards next doors designer shop before he went striding after her.

"Mr. Malfoy!" The salesman said when they entered, "and this must be Ms. Parkinson. Wedding shopping, how fabulous!"

"Yes. We are." Pansy tittered.

"Yes. We are." mocked Blaise, though Nott made a bit of his speech sound mangled.

"That was Pansy, stupid." Draco snapped.

"That was Pansy, stupid."

"Can you get off my desk?"

"I'm Mr. Thomas and I'd be happy to help you with anything." The man said politely, and Pansy smiled back, if not a bit sarcastically. Draco watched as her eyes narrowed, and her mouth curled. "Actually, you can help me."

Not likely.

"Hey so Draco, you going or what?"

"Leave Nott alone Blaise, he needs to get back to work."

"You're not at fucking work."

Draco winced. "Yes well..."

"Anyway, Nott shut the fuck up, anyway, It'll just be me, you, Hermione, and McLaggen."

The blond huffed. "I hate McLaggen."

Blaise sniffed. "I second that. But Hermione is trying to fucking reform him, I guess. Either that or we could go out with the flower people."

Draco's brows furrowed. "What?"

"Oh yeah, I went over there today, to see what was up." To see if you were there... "...and that weird fucking lady with the flower skills asked if I wanted to go to dinner with them."

"You're not actually thinking of going..."

"What's wrong with the flower people?"

"Okay, one, Blaise, don't call them flower people, they're not activists, and two, they probably eat in...taverns."

"Taverns?"

"Taverns. Blaise they're completely different than us."

"More reason to get to know them!" Blaise paused. "Don't you have that hunger?"

"I just ate," Draco responded dryly.

"No, no." There was another muffled sound of Nott crying out, and Blaise dropping something. "Fuck, sorry Nott, anyway...that hunger, you know, to learn about different people and step into their shoes?"

He had, but like hell he was going to admit it.

"No, I can't say I have."

"Right. Sure. So which the fuck is it? Flower people, McLaggen, flower people, McLaggen..."

"I think I'll take my chances with McLaggen," Draco said, watching as Mr. Thomas looked thoroughly overwhelmed. Pansy really was horrible to people.

"Coward. It's because Harry's going isn't it?"

"He is?"

"What, did you think he just sat at home like a fucking loser?"

"Yes."

"Fucker."

Pansy came over to him with another purchase, wrapping it around his wrist that currently held six different bags. She smiled at him mockingly.

"Is that Blaise?"

Draco nodded.

"Pansy, Pansy, Pansy."

"Tell him to let my future husband go so we can shop together," she said, placing a small hand on Draco's bag covered one.

"Did you catch that Blaise?"

"...Nott, shithead...wait, sorry, what was that?"

"Give Nott his phone back and I'll call you back later."

"Give me back my stapler!" Nott yelled.

"Yeah, maybe I had better. I'll call you back. And you better fucking answer."

The line went dead, and the dial tone sounded loud to Draco's ears. He snapped his phone back together and wrestled with the bags to put it into his pocket. Pansy walked him over to look at the suits she'd supposedly fallen in love with. One was a lovely white Armani set, with matching shoes, very striking. The mannequin looked decidedly pristine.

"You would look stunning Draco, dear. Not for the wedding of course. But just because."

Draco thought a three thousand dollar suit was not a 'just because'.

"It is nice," he said, not really enthusiastic.

"I should get it for you!"

Draco got out his credit card.

After sitting down at Le Banquet for meager portions and strong tea, Pansy and Draco set out to meet Narcissa for their appointment with the seamstress. Draco hadn't really been looking forward to seeing his mother, though thankfully he would be departing from them so that Pansy could talk to the seamstress. The thought made him cringe.

Narcissa looked as beautiful as always. Her long blonde hair was up in a sharp bun, and her silvery suit fit her elegant form gloriously. She was the very image of grace and sophistication, and even though Draco had been with her all of his life, he never ceased to be amazed with her beauty. Narcissa was the only fellow woman that Pansy would look at with something besides disgust. It amused Draco to see his future wife in awe.

"Draco, darling, how are you?"

"Fine mother," he said fondly, giving her a bag-filled hug. She smiled at him proudly, before turning a somewhat placid gaze to Pansy.

"Keeping him on his toes, Pansy?"

"I am Mrs. Malfoy," Pansy said, looking down.

"How many times must I tell you to call me Narcissa? After all, we are to be family."

Draco thought that if Narcissa was completely sure of Pansy, they would have been buddy-buddy a long time ago.

"Now, how about we meet that delightful seamstress? Give your mother a call later Draco."

Draco nodded.

"Bye darling," Pansy gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Take care of the bags for me?"

They set off down the street and Draco looked around uncomfortably. He shuffled the merchandise and managed to call for his driver. Looking longingly at the parking lot, Draco wished silently for his own car, though Pansy refused to ride in anything but a limo. He let the driver load all of his things into the trunk, and got in. He was not startled when his phone rang just as he was getting ice out of the refrigerator. Draco rolled his eyes, and picked it up.

"You answered!"

"I said I'd call you back, Blaise."

"I don't fucking trust you."

"Where are you now?"

"None of your business. You going or what?"

"How many times do I have to say it? No!"

"What else do you have fucking going for you?"

Draco huffed. "I could go home and sleep."

"Sleeping is such a fucking waste of time. The night is young!"

"It's only two o'clock right now," Draco said, checking his watch.

"Yeah, whatever. Hermione said she fucking wants you to go, and when she says that you better damn well go."

The blond knew he was right. Draco looked out his window at the cars speeding by and sighed. It looked like rain.

"Alright. I'm going back to work for a while, and then I'll meet you where ever we're going..."

"Nah, I'll pick you up. I thought you had the fucking day off?"

"I do but if I'm not..."

"You're obsessed."

Draco put his head into his hands and sighed.

"I'm not obsessed. I like to work. I'm good at what I do."

"I'm good at having sex, but I'm not a prostitute."

He sighed. "Blaise..."

"So around six? Then we can walk around the place. Fucking hot babes everywhere."

"Don't let Hermione hear you say that."

"Oh I tell her all the time. I've got the bruises to prove it."

Draco smirked. "Are you in an abusive relationship, Blaise?"

"You got that fucking right."

"Where to Mr. Malfoy?" said his driver, and Draco turned his attention to the wrinkly, rather disturbing looking man in the front.

"Madison and David, Mr. Filch, please."

"Right you are, Mr. Malfoy."

"Man your driver is fucking ugly."

"Shut up, Blaise."

Once Draco had let Blaise go, he was let off at Madison and David. As he always did when he entered from the front of the building, Draco looked up at the magnificent structure that was his father's company. He buttoned his suit a little distractedly and went inside to get a head start on some papers.

Hours later, that seemed like nothing but scraps of time, Draco put a manila folder on Nott's desk, bypassing any 'are you sure' questions and heading for his father's office. As he walked by the cubicles on his floor, various people Draco didn't usually converse with bid him a good afternoon. The elevator music was worse than usual on his way upstairs, and he gave a tired but polite hello to Millie.

"Draco!" His father stood. Lucius wasn't alone, however, and Draco was pleasantly surprised to see his godfather in the seat opposite his father's desk.

"I thought you were off today."

"I was, but I decided to come in anyway. Hello, Severus."

Severus Snape got to his feet as Draco entered the room, his face blank and impassive, except for the obvious and complete affection in his eyes. The man was wearing a colorless black suit, slightly worn but no less imposing. He had tied silky black hair, and large dark eyes. When Draco had been little, he had been afraid of Severus. He ran away every time his godfather came for lunch, and both Lucius and Severus remembered a time when Draco had called him words no five year old should know. Out of intense fear of course. Severus was intimidating.

Draco still recalled the day Severus won his trust. It was a simple thing really, and it was all it took to develop the close relationship they now shared. Draco had pricked his finger on a rose bush in the yard, and Severus had put a band aid on his hand. Though it was trivial, Draco looked at Severus with new eyes...as he wiped the blood off of Draco's finger and told him sternly to stop crying. Most of impressionable all, Severus had taken Draco out into the yard and explained why a rose had thorns in the first place, about how roses bloomed, and the name of the bright yellow flower that had hurt him so. And Draco had forever loved yellow roses.

Not that anyone knew. Like hell he was going to tell them. He smiled as Severus put a hand on his shoulder.

"Draco," He raised a finely arched eyebrow. "What have you been up to?"

"Up to?"

"You look stressed."

"I'm not stressed."

"He's stressed," said Lucius.

Severus gave him a severe look. "I might have known. I leave for two months and come back to find I'm one spoiled brat short. You work too hard."

Father doesn't seem to think so, Draco thought bitterly, seeing as Lucius sounded a little cheery at the thought of Draco working himself to death.

"I like to work." Draco said shortly.

"You're too much like your idiot father." Snape drawled, giving Lucius a glare, "You'll both run your blood pressure through the roof."

"As if you care about our health, Severus." Lucius smirked.

"Hmm. Point taken."

They both came over and sat down, Draco surprisingly ecstatic about his godfather being in the same room as him.

"How was Kenya, Severus?"

His godfather didn't look tanned at all, and Draco thought that he must have used bottle after bottle of sun block.

"Dry, ugly, and pointless." Severus clasped his fingers together and looked bored.

"Sounds kind of like your face." They all turned, and Lucius let out a sigh. "Bar the Mount Everest you use for a nose."

Lucius pushed the button on his speaker.

"Millie, why did you let him in?"

Blaise pulled up a chair, effectively knocking over the neglected plant Lucius had forgotten was in the corner. "Because I'm beautiful."

"Ah. I was wondering where the other brat was," Severus said, his mouth curling in amusement.

"Hey!" Draco and Blaise both said.

Millie's voice came over the speaker. "He said he'd kill me if I didn't. He had a gun sir!"

"What?" Lucius looked at the young man across from him.

Blaise took his hand out of his pocket and shaped it into a gun, closing one eye and aiming at the speaker.

"It wasn't a real gun Millie," Draco said.

"Of course it is!" Blaise cried, offended. There were a few sniffles over the speaker and Lucius let go of the button. Draco turned to him, raising his eyebrows in anger.

"You made her cry?"

Blaise turned his 'gun' on Draco and aimed.

"Severus," Lucius changed the subject, annoyed. "How long are you in town for?"

Severus smirked, "A while. My research has yet to go over well with the publishers, but otherwise, all is well. I'd say two to three months."

Draco grinned, and Blaise suddenly sat forward.

"That's great! You should meet Draco's new roommate..."

The blond clapped a hand over Blaise's mouth, and a tussle ensued. "Boys." Lucius warned, and Severus' addressed them with a raised eyebrow.

"Roommate? What's this Draco?"

Draco groaned, though his father answered for him.

"My son has decided to live in a flower shop near Queens. He says that he wants to experience life before marriage."

"Yeah. You should meet his roommate Severus, he's a crazy Vegan artist with wild hair and a mysterious past." Blaise seemed to think the 'mysterious past' part was particularly hilarious.

Severus sneered, and then looked away. "Sounds lovely."

"Draco likes him, don't you Draco?" Blaise said, nudging him.

Draco blushed, and it was a good thing Lucius was too distracted to notice. Severus did though.

"Tell me, what possibly possessed you, Draco? It doesn't seem like the young man I've come to know for the last two years." Severus commented dryly.

"What does that mean?" Draco's brows furrowed.

"Well," He clarified, "when you were younger you had that same ambition, though never to such intensity. Now it rules your life."

Draco was shocked into silence. He looked at his father, who seemed angry, to Severus, all-knowing, and Blaise, who was nodding and winking.

"What am I supposed to say to that?" he asked.

"Explain. What possessed you?"

Draco looked from his father to Severus, to his father to Severus again. He pointed to Blaise.

"It's his fault!"

Blaise made a 'pow' sound, and shot Draco in the head.

"Severus, why don't you accompany Draco to his knew home this week, I have yet to see it but I trust your judgement," Lucius suggested.

Draco looked at Severus nervously.

"I would enjoy that," the man responded dryly. "Though I am tied with separate affairs all week, as you know I must sort out all I left behind for Kenya."

"You never did say how it was, really," Draco implored.

"Apart from ridiculously hot...I'd say the array of research material was prodigious."

"Prodigious?"

"Don't think too hard on it, Mr. Zabini." Severus smirked, and then turned back to Draco. "It was very nice Draco, I enjoyed my time there and with the natives."

"I should hope so," Lucius commented. "I can't imagine going there voluntarily."

"Well he didn't did he?" Draco said. "It's for the book."

Severus gave him a rare smile. "Precisely."

"Draco, we should go." Blaise said, and Draco could tell he was bored.

"Where are you boys going?" Lucius asked.

"Out to dinner," Draco looked at Blaise. "With McLaggen."

Severus sneered.

"That boy is a complete dunce."

Lucius smirked.

"Now, now Severus, it's a hard life being a half-wit. Besides, we have a McLaggen working here, don't we? It's best not to slander our employee's offspring."

"Speak for yourself." Blaise said, examining his nails. "That guy is two fries short of a Happy Meal. And we have to hang out with him."

"We don't have to," Draco said, hopefully.

Blaise raised his eyebrows.

"Do you know Hermione?"

They talked for a bit longer, until Blaise got so bored he was whining. Blaise was a class A whiner, and Lucius didn't want to hear any of it. Draco promised to meet his godfather for lunch, and both boys headed out around half till.

They met Hermione and McLaggen at the restaurant. Hermione seemed slightly subdued with McLaggen, who didn't say much of anything to Draco or Blaise. When Blaise leaned over and asked if McLaggen wanted mushroom slice, the only thing he got in response was a grunt. Draco had raised an eyebrow and barely contained his laughter.

Draco couldn't seem to get his thoughts together all through dinner, and more than once Hermione had to call his name to get his attention. Hermione was a beautiful young woman with wavy brown hair and startling cocoa eyes. She had a forceful personality, and though Draco did appreciate it...she seemed to smother people into submission during conversations. Hermione obviously didn't mean to, and for the billionth time in the past year, Draco acknowledged how good Blaise and Hermione were for each other.

Blaise would not be smothered. Draco knew.

It was impossible.

His thoughts also seemed to stray to Severus quite a bit. Severus saying that the trip was nice meant he enjoyed it immensely, and Draco was happy about that. He wished Severus was around more, and had more time to be with him, but work pushed them a part little by little. And it wasn't all Severus' fault. His godfather had been right in telling him he'd changed...and Draco would have to except that. Just maybe not right away.

The night passed on, and they walked around and window shopped. With comfortable silences, and witty chatter, they each enjoyed each other's company (with the exception of McLaggen, who seemed so confused he was in pain). It was finally very late when Draco made it back to the loft, and he fumbled for the key he'd been given to the store. The shop was dark and quiet, and the room had remnants of pots, dirt, and footprints, from the day. He wondered if any of the footprints belonged to Harry.

He was thoughtful, and very silent when he came in. Spending time with his friends was refreshing really, though there was always something wrong about their nights out. There was always one thing that would make Draco sure he was having a bad time, and one thing that would nudge his mess of feelings to acknowledge unhappiness. He wasn't disappointed with the night, just unclear really...unclear about a lot of things. He decided he'd had a good time, and made his way upstairs.

When he pushed open the door to his new apartment, he looked around a bit, as pretty much just walking into the loft was a new experience at the moment. Draco thought that maybe he should be getting more sleep, or spend more time there...it was a nice place.

He walked across the floorboards silently, passing the table that had a few boxes of his things. He took off his blazer and ran a hand through his hair, tired and distracted...that is, until he came to the mattress on the floor. Beneath a mess of blankets and books, poked out dark ebony hair. Beside the mattress was a tatty backpack, and a pair of paint stained shoes. Harry turned over in his sleep, and the blanket slipped down to reveal his face. That infuriatingly beautiful face.

Draco walked into his room and shut the door, staring at it for a moment before starting to change. When his head finally hit the pillow, he fancied himself indifferent.


	8. Color Application

As September passed with uneventful peace, on came October of changing leaves, and chilly winds. The month of golden reds and oranges had always been a one Mr. Remus Lupin's favorite, if only for the state of calm that washed over New York in the fall. He found himself wearing sweaters and mittens, and though he bodily remained unchanged, the world around him dulled into a passionate transformation. Fall always made him recall hot tea and billowing scarves, and though the season beautiful, it never ceased to get him down.

His shop filled to bursting with customers, for having weddings, funerals and the like. Remus helped them all he could, though distraction met him continuously throughout the day. He couldn't place his finger on it, though as a believer of cosmic intervention, he could guess that something was stirring in the October air. He managed to shake himself out of his reverie enough to help around the store, so his odd feelings didn't particularly bother him too much.

Mrs. Sprout had called him on his distance and being fairly muddleheaded more than once, and Remus had simply stated it was the weather. After all, Fall seemed the perfect time to think over important things. He thought it rather poetic, but didn't say so, just as he never voiced his inkling that something new and different would be happening. Instead, he went along as his kindly, wise self, and fixed his mask as Remus Lupin once more.

It was just about closing time, and the amber-eyed man was jotting down his records for the day. The sun was setting brilliantly, in a slow, structured burst of color, and everyone seemed to be going home to the view of pink and orange clouds. With Mrs. Sprout gone and Harry upstairs, the fading day remained pleasantly placid, so pleasant in fact, that Remus did not hear the bell tinkle over his door until a familiar voice had called to him.

"Are you closing up?"

Remus looked up and faced Dennis, but before he was able to answer, a startled gasp escaped his lips.

"Jesus what happened to you?" he said, almost running over to the boy. Dennis had a large purple welt on the side of his face, and what looked like cuts and bruises on his forearms. Remus gently touched the wound, grimacing.

"Got into a fight," Dennis muttered.

"Damn it Dennis, they did it again!"

Remus led him over to the stool and pushed him down, before running into the back for a wet cloth. The rag dripped on the floor boards as he hurried back, and the only sound in the empty store was the tip tap of his shoes. He thought about getting Harry, but decided to hear Dennis out first. He carefully rolled the warm cloth around his fingers and placed it on the welt. The boy in front of him tried to move away, hissing.

"Hold still, alright? Now, tell me what happened."

Dennis seemed reluctant to say anything, as Remus suspected he would be. Rather, the boy sat with his hair in his face, looking dejected and small. Remus felt an ache in his chest, and gently scrubbed away the dirt and faintly stained blood on Dennis' face. He knelt down to meet his gaze and stared.

"Please tell me what happened."

Blue eyes suddenly filled with tears, and Remus was so shocked he let the emotion show for a slip of a moment. It was enough to embarrass Dennis into lowering his head completely.

"Dennis..."

The boy let out a chocked sob, somewhere between a hiccup and a cough, and Remus placed a hand on his arm awkwardly.

"Dennis..."

Dennis started to cry, huge gulps of tears and sobs, that racked his body with shakes and shivers. Remus hadn't seen anyone cry like this in a long time, and he felt the worry begin to bubble up in his stomach. He bit his lip and watched, unable to comfort, slightly unsure of himself, though willing to help.

It was awkward situations such as this, that made Remus feel angry at himself for. He didn't enjoy having to console, and the fact that he did get angry always sparked guilt and self-disgust afterward. He didn't ever know what he was supposed to do. He didn't know how anyone could expect a man who had only loved very briefly, who hated the thought of settling down, who was more screwed up then he let on...to possibly help the teenager before him. Whom, despite how much he wanted to write most off as teenage angst, was going through something horrible.

Remus managed to get passed it, and soon Dennis was in his arms and crying. It wasn't novel, not exactly no, and the discomfort continued when Remus felt the wet on his shoulders and a hand curl into his clothes. But if this was what Dennis wanted, then Remus would try...for his sake at least.

The shaking mess in his arms choked out something, and Remus didn't catch it. Luckily, Dennis said it again.

"I don't want this."

"It's okay, Dennis..."

"I came here because they wouldn't care...dad would tell me to fight back, I can't fight back..."

"You shouldn't have to..."

"I don't know what to do," and his body shook with sobs once more. "I don't want this." he choked.

Remus bit his lip. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't even get himself straight, how was he supposed to...

"What's going on?"

He let go of the teen and turned to see Harry at the foot of the stairs. He was splattered with paint and left over soil from today's work, and his hair looked messier than ever. His bright eyes fell on Dennis and widened. Watching Harry carefully, Remus glanced back to Dennis, who's face had turned a brilliant red.

"What happened?" Harry asked, and strode over to Dennis worriedly. Remus moved out of the way, ashamed to feel a bit relieved, and Harry gently touched the welt on Dennis' cheek.

Dennis shook his head, fresh tears trailing down his face.

"Nothing. I got into a fight."

Remus sighed. "They beat him up again."

"What did they say?" Harry said, looking back and forth.

"They didn't say anything."

"Well then why would they beat you up?"

The teenager shook his head. "Because I was there?"

"Beatings don't happen like that. What did they say to you?"

With eyes filled with tears, Dennis sniffed and wiped his arm across his nose. He looked up at Harry.

"They called me a fag."

Remus was suddenly very angry. "They what?"

"And other names."

"All with the same premise no doubt," Harry said dryly, straightening up. "What made them think you were into guys?"

"Nothing! I think it's because I'm skinny or something..."

"Bull," Remus snapped. "Those kids are either brainwashed by their conservative parents, or in some heavy, heavy denial."

Harry cracked a smile. "You sound like Blaise."

"Why would they think you were gay though..." Remus ventured.

"Would it matter if I was!"

The two men looked at each other.

"You're preaching to the wrong choir here Dennis," Remus said. "Now where did this happen?"

Dennis' head went down once more.

"A few blocks from here, around the park. They had a car."

"So they jumped you?"

Harry gave him a look, and mouthed at him. "Jumped you?" Remus shrugged.

"No," he sniffed, shaking his head. "They just picked on me a little."

Harry pointed. "And that would explain the huge welt on your face."

Dennis groaned.

"My parents are going to see that."

"They should," Remus said sternly.

"No they shouldn't! They don't care. You know them Remus, you know they want me to be just like Collin, just like everyone else. They hate that I come here all the time, and they hate you...they say fucked up things..."

"Slow down. What they say about me has nothing to do with you."

"You're my friend!" Dennis objected.

Remus was silent for a moment.

"That's very nice Dennis. But what we need to focus on is you telling your parents about these boys..."

"You promised you wouldn't," the teen reminded him.

"I know I did. But now this is getting out of control..." Remus shook his head and let his eyes travel. He didn't look at Harry, and faced the front door, unsure and recklessly worried.

"Dennis," Harry said. "We want to help you."

Dennis' eyes flashed.

"I hardly know you! And I don't need anyone's help." He turned to Remus. "You could help me by letting me stay here!"

"Your parents would find you immediately and send me to prison on kidnaping charges." Remus countered dully.

"I just...I don't want to go home. I don't want to go to school, I've only got here..."

Harry shook his head.

"This needs to be resolved. You can't hide forever."

"Yes I can!" Dennis yelled. "Yes I can."

"What will you do with your life? You're going to let a bunch of idiot boys' call you names and back you into a corner?" Harry knelt down and placed a hand on Dennis' shoulder. "Don't let them get to you."

They were silent for a time. Dennis shook is head suddenly.

" I can't tell my parents."

Harry smiled. "They'll understand. They love you. Regardless of who or what they think you are."

Dennis suddenly glared at him. "Where are yours?"

Harry titled his head. "My what?"

"Your parents. Where are your parents?"

Remus snapped to attention and looked down at the them curiously. He watched the array of emotions of Harry's face, some ranging to some discomfort, to consternation, and then to sadness.

"They died. But they loved me, Dennis. And your parents love you."

The botanist looked down at the brunette in shock. He's an orphan! Harry was an orphan. So there hadn't been abusive parents. His family had died...and the only question screaming at Remus was 'how?' To be nineteen and an orphan...unless he'd grown up without them... though Harry had said his parents had loved him...

"I'm sorry."

And Dennis about summed it up right there.

They finally agreed to get Dennis home, and Remus left for a bit to call the kid's parents. Mrs. Creevey came on the other line, and with one mention of her son, burst into tears. Remus had to eventually get Dennis to the phone so he could assure his mother he was alright.

The situation was lighter then, and everyone seemed to get along a bit more. Dennis' mom was on her way to pick him up, and Harry stood downstairs long enough to have a conversation with the two. He and Remus exchanged glances every now and then, aware of each others thoughts. Dennis' mom would find out, and hopefully...

When the boy finally left, hearing the honk outside the shop, he gave Remus and Harry an awkward wave, before practically running to the car. Harry smiled, amused, and Remus fixed his inquisitive gaze on him.

"How did it happen?"

Harry turned and stared, before blinking. He suddenly looked sheepish, and uncomfortable. Several times he tried to respond, only to sink into a volley of silence once more. Remus shook his head.

"It's okay."

The artist was instantly gratified, and gave him a smile. Remus put a hand over his chest and rubbed. He hated it when Harry did that.

"Are you still working on that piece for the show?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah, finished it last night, I'm on the second, which came to me over cereal this morning."

Remus laughed. "And you've been holding it in all day?"

"Yeah, right, usually it escapes me if I hold it in. This one's big, I can feel it."

The botanist rolled his eyes, and Harry laughed.

"Well, looks like we did well today." Remus walked over to the door and shut it, locking the entrance before pulling the screen down. The side exit he left open, for Malfoy to use when he came home. Harry turned the open sign over for him.

"Like every day, you mean."

He nodded."I kind of wish I hadn't settled in New York. A lot happens here."

The brunette hopped onto the counter, smiling. "That's the best part about it."

"New York in October is nice."

Harry put his head into his hand and nodded. "Yeah, it is."

There was a pleasant silence in between the two, that is, until Harry had this miraculous idea and decided to gasp happily.

"Pizza!"

"Pizza?" Remus asked, "Oh, for dinner, hey yeah, I'll order."

Harry gave a one armed 'yes!' and Remus went into the back to pick up the phone. He stopped and shouted at Harry.

"Maybe we should wait for Malfoy."

Harry turned around on the counter and frowned.

"Why?"

Remus tried not to laugh at the venom in Harry's voice.

"Because he might like some dinner."

The brunette looked down and picked at his shoes. "So..." he mumbled.

"Harry," Remus said in warning.

"Remus, he's a complete slick, I hate people like that and he's no different," Harry sighed. "All he does is work at that stupid company."

Remus came into the room and looked at him, confused.

"What is it with you and that company?"

"Nothing!" Harry objected, a little too quickly. "I just hate suits, I hate them."

"Hate is..."

"A strong word." Harry finished, before hopping off the counter and pulling on his jacket. The action sort of made Remus want to get his too. Harry pulled down the sleeves and zipped it up. There was splash of random paint all over it's faded black.

"I really do, though," he said at first thought, staring up at the botanist. "I don't like him. Or anyone like him."

"Blaise works just as much as Draco."

"That's not true and you know it." Harry ran a hand through his hair. He looked at Remus through his bangs. "I think it's because I don't understand them."

"Romantic," Remus accused.

Harry's jaw dropped, he picked up a pair of shears from on top of the counter and raised them threateningly."Take it back."

They laughed a while, and Remus kicked Harry out of the shop so he could clean. Harry smiled at him from the top of the stairs and Remus grinned back. He set about picking the debris from the day, and swept a little. He opened his door so he could sweep the leaves out onto the sidewalk, and noticed the changing colors just as the sun went down. It had been a pleasant day.

He waited a few hours, in case anyone decided to show up for dinner. Dung came over to hassle him, and Remus hid behind the counter while the man knocked on the glass. The place was finally clean, and to his immense surprise, the door opened to admit the one and only Malfoy heir. Remus glanced at the clock.

"Hello Mr. Malfoy, usually don't see you at this time."

Draco scowled, pushing open the door just barely to get in. He was wearing a very sharp, very expensive, looking white suit. It appealed to him greatly, and made his pale hair and handsome features stand out. He stood rather poised at the door, and Remus raised an eyebrow.

"Draco, move."

Blaise shoved his way inside, dropping his cigarette and cursing.

"Fuck," he bent over to retrieve it as Draco walked in a greeted Remus with a hand shake.

Blaise examined his smoke before putting it back into his mouth.

"Flower guy!" he said happily, and strode over to say hello, shaking his hand so hard Remus nearly dropped his broom.

Blaise blew out a black cloud before looking around.

"What's for dinner?"

"Blaise you're not staying," Draco said, he had one foot on the stair and the other planted on the ground. His scowl was amusing with Blaise so strikingly cheerfully.

"He's welcome to stay," Remus said to Draco, he turned to Blaise. "You're welcome to stay."

Draco scowled, Remus smirked, and Blaise grinned.

"Great."

The heir gritted his teeth. "Great."

"Great." Remus smiled at them both. "We're having pizza."

"Pizza!" Blaise said excited. "I love pizza!"

Draco started to climb up the stairs. "You would."

"Pineapple and cheese?"

"Pineapple and cheese? I love pineapple and cheese."

"Shut up, Blaise."

Remus went into the back to order, and Blaise ran up the stairs to catch up. Draco shook his head at him.

"Who invited you?"

Blaise smirked. "You were there, Remus did."

"Remus is a troglodyte."

"So?" Blaise dropped his cigarette and crushed it. "So?"

He got out another one.

"Smoke that outside, will you?"

Blaise started looking for his lighter.

When Draco pushed open the door to the loft, he felt a sudden relief in his chest. The sort of relief that he'd usually felt upon arriving home from work every day, it only seemed to him that it was more pronounced in his new apartment. He didn't admit it, but he liked the place very much. He also seemed to like the image before him.

Harry was at a large canvas, swinging his brush back and forth with no effort and no real concentration. The headphones in his ears were blasting, and Draco watched as his lean body swerved a little to the music. Harry had a smile on his face, and oddly enough, his eyes were closed. Draco wondered how art could be made with your eyes closed. Draco was a suit.

The brush lilted a bit, and Harry suddenly dragged it across the board with fierce intensity. The blonde saw only the tip of the brush as it was staring at him, and felt the force of something slam into him.

Harry opened his eyes, and immediately wished he hadn't.

Draco looked down at his suit in shock.

There was red, yellow, blue...all over him. It was completely ruined. The three thousand dollar Armani that beheld Draco so expertly, that Pansy had picked out for him to wear, was completely ruined. He looked up at Harry with wide eyes, and Harry stood identically shocked before him. The brunette was apologetic, as you could tell by the scrunched nose and bitten lip. The criminal paintbrush still pointed out threateningly. Harry reached up with a paint colored hand and took off his headphones, swallowing.

There was a tense silence...

...though rather short, since Blaise had come up behind him. He walked in, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, and gave Draco a severe, critical stare.

"You look like a Wonder Bread truck."

The silence continued.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry."

Draco highly doubted it. Harry ran forward, tripping over the tarp at his feet before kicking it out of the way and picking up a rag.

"No, don't..."

But it was too late, Harry had started to wipe away the paint on Draco's suit. It smeared together, and more colors were added, since the rag was covered in blue and purple. Harry was very close to him, and yet Draco could feel nothing but seething anger rather than attraction to the brunette.

"Whoops."

Blaise began to laugh.

"I'm really sorry. I'll replace it, I swear."

Blaise laughed harder.

"Yeah, replace it," Draco said, his jaw tight. "Just stop, stop!"

Harry let the rag fall, his face pained.

"I'm really sorry..."

"Stop." Draco repeated. "It's fine."

"I can replace it! I can, I..." Harry turned around to look about the room, tripping over the tarp again.

"A three thousand dollar suit? You're going to replace it." Draco said in disbelief. He walked over to the sink and turned the warm water on. "How do you get this stuff off?"

Harry looked confused. Draco turned back to him and gave him a once over.

"I suppose you wouldn't know."

Blaise sniggered.

The artist looked down at his paint stained clothes. "Er...it always dried before I noticed it was there," he shrugged. "I'm sorry..."

"Just quit it okay, Blaise shut up."

Blaise held onto his stomach. "That's fucking funny man," he looked up at them amid tears of laughter. "Hey Draco, at least Harry's putting a little..color...into your life, haha!"

"God, would you shut up already?" Draco snapped.

"Where did you get it, I'll get you another one..." Harry said.

"Just stop! You'd have to plant fucking flowers the rest of your life to pay for half of it, so shut up."

"Fuck off!" Harry yelled, angry. "Who's to say I can't pay for it?"

"You." Draco chuckled cruelly, turning around to glare at him, one hand with the warm cloth and the other out in amused disbelief. "You are going to buy a three thousand dollar..."

"I get that it's fucking three thousand dollars, Gucci whatever..."

"Armani!" Draco shouted. "Armani!"

"Who the fuck cares!" Harry stepped forward. "I'll pay for it."

"Like hell you will!"

"You don't think I can!"

"I know you can't!"

"Fuck you! I didn't mean to do it!"

"Yeah, sure."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Blaise started to laugh again.

"It means I think you did it on fucking purpose. And you walking into a designer retail store is the funniest thing I'd ever see in my life." Draco slapped the rug down onto the counter and turned away.

"Oh, yeah, funny." Harry snapped, walking up behind him. "You think I wouldn't fit in there?"

"No! You wouldn't."

"Why? I know people! I could probably get the suit for free."

Draco scoffed.

"Off the back of a truck."

Blaise raised his hand. "I do that."

Harry looked at him quickly. "I mean really, I can pay for it."

"Just knock it off, alright?"

"No!" Harry yelled, he looked down at Draco's rag. "Fuck, let me do it."

With paint covered fingers, Harry rubbed at the smooth material steadily. Draco looked down at the top of Harry's head and watched the furious scrubbing. Just looking at his once lovely suit made him want to throw up.

"This is fucking great. Just great."

"Stop whining. Can't daddy buy you another?"

This obviously, was the wrong thing to say, because Draco flipped.

"You little... idiot."

"Little!" Harry said indignantly.

"You don't know anything about my dad...or me for that matter!"

"I know enough!"

"You making fucking assumptions isn't truth. Just because you believe everything you see in the papers..."

"Papers?" Harry shouted. "What papers?"

"Oh please, you're not that much of a idealist."

Harry waved his arms above his head.

"Would everyone stop calling me politically correct stereotypes!"

Draco scowled. "If the shoe fits."

Harry shoved him. "Fuck you."

"Don't shove me." Draco shoved him back.

Blaise grinned. "Now boys..."

"Shut up Blaise!" They both snapped, before resuming their yelling. Blaise walked around the apartment and took a look at Harry's painting. He frowned slightly, before putting a hand on his chin and furrowing his eyebrows. When he turned back, the two had finished screaming at each other, much to his disappointment.

Draco tore off his ruined blazer and stormed into his room. The door shut with a resounding slam.

Blaise crushed his cigarette into the floor and walked over to Harry, putting an arm around his shoulder. "I've seen this style before. Are you famous Harry?"

Harry was distracted enough to blush.

"Not really, no."

Blaise shook a finger at him. "I think my mother has one of your paintings in our dining room."

With a light slap, Harry moved his way out from Blaise's arm. Blaise tapped his shoe and suddenly changed the subject.

"He's not always like that. He's usually even more of a jerk."

Harry knelt down and closed the paint bottles. He looked up at Blaise.

"I didn't think it was possible."

Blaise inhaled and nodded, grinning, "Oh god yes. He's a total asshole."

"Thanks for the warning," Harry said, bringing his paint up onto the counter. He suddenly turned to the other man, frowning.

"Lucius Malfoy...how long has he been the owner of Madison and David?"

Blaise blew out some smoke and thought for a moment. "Six, seven years? I don't know."

The brunette turned back around and started rolling up the tarp, thinking.

"Hey, pizza!" Blaise suddenly remembered.

Harry smiled and got up, brushing his pants off. "Shall we?"

"Certainly."

Later on that night, after the pizza and carbonated beverages, Harry made his way upstairs with Blaise tagging along. Harry had been furious at dinner, and Remus being so amused he couldn't eat hadn't helped either. He'd heard the fight upstairs and had started laughing a long time before Harry had even come downstairs. The brunette had then proceeded to massacre his pizza.

Remus and Blaise had watched as Harry shed the entire slice of all the cheese, before picking apart the vegetables and slapping them on again. He had then rolled the bread around itself and ate the pizza like an egg roll.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Eating," he responded dryly.

Blaise had never seen anyone eat pizza the way Harry did.

They walked upstairs, and Blaise held a slice of cheese in his hand, he walked over to Draco's door as Harry put his canvas up.

"Draco?" Blaise called from the door. "I'm going to hit the road. I brought you some pizza."

There was no answer.

"Draco?"

Blaise shook his head. He glanced at Harry, who scowled and shrugged. Blaise looked down at the pizza and thought hard, he reached up and stuck the slice onto the door, as the napkin flew away and onto the floor. Harry watched him leave.

"See you later."

Harry shook his head and continued to wash his paint brushes out. The handle to Draco's room shook, and the entrance swung open. Draco walked out nonchalantly, and Harry chose to ignore him. The blond went about looking in the refrigerator, and moved around him to get to the spoons. Harry moved aside and put his clean brushes onto a cloth, before washing them once more as Draco leaned over him unnecessarily to get to the bowls.

Harry moved a little, and Draco gritted his teeth as the brunette stood directly in front of the cereal. They stared at each other, before the blond stepped around him. Harry sighed.

"Listen, I'm sorry about the suit."

Draco was silent.

"I can pay for it, you know."

Draco put the milk back.

"Are you just going to ignore me?" Harry said angrily.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Draco was silent.

"Fuck, how can you be such a girl about it, it's just a fucking suit."

The blond murmured something about three thousand dollars and Harry groaned. Draco sat on the couch as Harry followed him, leaving the water on as he left.

"How are we supposed to do this if you're going to hold a grudge?"

"Do what?" Draco asked.

"Tolerate each other."

"You could start by bathing," Draco suggested.

"Jerk," Harry said, walking away.

"I'm the jerk?" Draco snapped. He got up from the couch and followed Harry into the kitchen. "You're the one who ruined my...what the fuck is that?"

Harry looked at the pizza stuck to the door, and smirked. "Compliments of Blaise. He seems to think you're a jerk also."

"Blaise thinks everyone's a jerk. That's gross."

"He's your friend," Harry picked up the spoon from Draco's neglected bowl of cereal that he was holding, and ate a mouthful of oats. "You deal with him."

Draco tried desperately to ignore how appealing Harry had just been. The artist grabbed a book off the counter and sat on his mattress, still chewing. He looked up from the pages and raised his eyebrows.

"You know that's soy milk."

Draco looked down at his bowl, and scowled, before rounding on Harry again.

"I'm not the jerk here."

"Then let me pay for the suit."

"I don't need you to."

Harry sneered. "Let me guess, because you're loaded anyway."

Draco breathed a sigh of relief and smiled, happy that Harry had gotten the message. "Yes."

"Jerk." He went back to his book and lay down.

"It's the truth. How the hell do you suppose you're going to pay for it?"

Harry looked up from his book.

"I'll rob a bank."

"Very funny," Draco snapped. "The fact is, you wouldn't be able to pay for it if Lupin grew a money tree. Forget it and shut up about paying me back."

Harry got up. "Look, I'm going on the roof. Think what you want to think. I don't care anymore." "Are you going to jump? Don't let me stop you."

Harry ignored him. Draco watched as he walked up the spiral staircase and pulled down the draw string. He disappeared into the October night and Draco cursed.

He had never, in his entire life, met anyone as annoying as Harry Potter. He'd dealt with his own mother, Pansy, Severus, and Blaise, and yet Harry, who seemingly came out of nowhere, had completely thrown him off guard. He was more than confused, and he was angry.

Draco threw his empty bowl into the sink and walked back into his room. He glanced at the staircase, and hoped it would rain.


	9. Aconite and Antagonists

In a way that no one could really describe, Draco pulled himself together in the morning as if he were going to war. Everything from his tightly buttoned undershirt, to his intricately tied shoes, was invariably perfect before he would leave for work.

Not only was his blazer spotless, and his underwear clean, nothing classified Draco as Draco until the infamous Malfoy hair was pulled back into a greased, shaped, sharp looking slick. He walked out of one room and lit another with his stunning, impeccable presence. He moved with confidence, surety, and extreme caution.

He was intelligent, sophisticated, and most importantly; filthy rich. He was Draco Malfoy, what more was there to say?

It was no wonder, then, that Draco would be so disgusted with his roommate. Seeing as Harry was about as sophisticated as a meat truck. It was no wonder, the look Draco gave Harry the next morning. He was on his way out, knowing very well that it was entirely too early to be going to work, when he caught a glimpse of the brunette climbing down from the spiral staircase. Draco could only assume that Harry had fallen asleep on the roof.

They ignored each other. Draco put the coffee on and tried not to notice how ruffled and uncouth Harry looked, and he was pretty sure Harry was trying not to think about the faultless blonde just as hard. They moved around as if neither existed, and Draco watched from the corner of his eye as Harry opened the refrigerator and bent to get an apple. The next second, he was cursing his stupid self for looking.

Harry remained oblivious, as he rotated the piece of fruit in his hands carefully, staring off into space. Draco followed his gaze to the painting Harry had been working on last night, he could barely see it in the colors of the morning, and his attention was immediately snapped back when Harry bit into his apple with a loud crunch. He stared. Harry took another bite, and wiped away at the juice on his lips. He suddenly remembered he was ignoring the other man, and turned away with a curse. Stupid apples.

Harry took another chomp, before grabbing the book he'd left on the counter and opening it with one hand. He started to read, right there in the kitchen, next to Draco, who was waiting for his coffee. The sound of teeth crunching through something wet and soft made the blonde stare at the artist hard. Harry happily ate more.

Draco turned back to his caffeinated beverage desperately, trying to drown out the sound emitting from the counter. He cringed as Harry continued to eat, his mind screaming at him to make it stop. Someone seemed to be listening to him today, he thought, as he watched Harry hop off the counter and throw his apple away. The artist stepped in front of his canvas and stood there for a moment, before stepping backward and toppling onto his mattress. Harry disappeared under the covers, snuggling into fetal position with a smile.

The coffee was done, and Draco fancied he'd had enough.

He didn't understand why Harry was so...weird. Couldn't he just dress appropriately? Or possibly act a little more mature and get a steady job? Draco did not think working in a flower shop was enough to have bragging rights over. He did not think being an artist and being so outward and bold was a good thing. He'd never thought much on artists except that they were insipid, superficial, and intolerably rude. Ironically enough, Harry would say the same about suits.

It was only because of pride that Draco refused to back down. He did however, slam his door childishly, before gazing around his room with little happiness. Artists, in his opinion, should all be shot.

He grabbed his brief case, something Blaise liked to call his 'man' purse, when Draco knew very well knew it wasn't a purse, and headed out the door. Harry was still burrowed underneath his blanket, and seemingly asleep. Draco stepped by him easily and walked past the canvas. He stopped, suddenly very curious about what his roommate had painted.

"What do you think?"

He turned back to the brunette, who had a tuft of hair sticking out from the blankets.

"What is it?" he asked.

"What do you think it is?"

Draco glared at the large lump. "Why are you even asking me?"

"Why are you answering a question with a question?"

Letting out a low groan, Draco walked over to the counter and set his briefcase down. He reached into the cupboard and brought out a tape roller, suddenly very insecure about the hair on his suit. Harry poked his head out of his blanket and watched the blonde carefully.

"As a person of your..." Harry weighed his words. "...Intricacy," he finished, tilting his head. "What do you think of the painting."

Draco turned to him, before glancing at the canvas in distaste.

"I think you're highly overrated."

Harry sat up and put his head into his hand, smirking. "Oh but am I rated? I was under the impression you thought me a low-life, jobless loser, with no winning attributes except for my skillful ability to annoy you."

Had Harry said it with venom, Draco would have been able to ignore that comment as self-imposed.

"That's a lot for someone to get right in one day," he snapped.

"No, seriously," Harry suddenly folded into a pretzel. "What do you think? Careful now, I rely heavily on your opinion."

Draco leveled him with a glare.

"I told you. You're overrated. Why would you ask me if I like something that had a hand in ruining a very expensive suit?"

Harry groaned loudly, before leaning backward and plopping onto his mattress.

"You're so difficult."

Draco rolled the tape across his suit fiercely.

"Oh yes, and conversation with you isn't the most toilsome, strenuous, test of endurance I've ever had to..." Draco ripped the tape from the roll and threw it on the ground. "...Endure..." he finished lamely.

Harry sat up and stared at him. His eyes found the tape on the ground, and then the roller his roommate had used on his clothes.

"Are you going to pick that up?" he asked, pointing to the used paper. Draco sneered.

"No."

There was an awkward silence as Draco purged his clothing of strings, excess dust, and the its original color, until Harry said.

"Did you know that annually the amount of garbage dumped into the ocean is three times the weight of fish that is caught in that same year?"

There was an odd silence, in which Draco turned around and gave a look that clearly said, in all honest confusion, 'Are you out of your mind?'.

"That is one of the most useless facts I have ever heard in my life."

Harry bristled.

"As opposed to the nonsense you listen to at work, I'm guessing."

"Making a living isn't nonsense."

"Neither are the fish."

Draco dropped the roller back into the drawer forcefully and slammed it shut.

"You're crazy."

"Just recycle, and I'll back off," Harry said, lifting his hands neutrally.

"Fine. I'll recycle. And you'll back off. Better yet, why don't we just not talk to each other? Since all we seem to do is fight..."

Harry smiled congenially, pushing his hair back. "At least you own up to it."

"You started it."

"Oh, that's mature."

Draco grabbed his suitcase and started to walk out. Harry sat smugly on his mattress, smirking, that is, until his eyes caught the leather in Draco's hand. Harry gasped dramatically, falling back onto his makeshift bed with little grace.

"I'm leaving," Draco growled.

"Look what you've done to that cow!"

The door slammed behind him.

Remus turned to hear footsteps on the stairs, and watched as Harry descended, his hair still wet from his shower. He remembered seeing Malfoy run out of the shop near dawn, and could only assume it was Harry's doing. Therefore, he gave his employee a small smile once he was alert enough to notice the other man's presence at the counter.

"What?" Harry asked.

Remus grinned.

"I don't even want to know what you've been doing to him."

Harry raised one eyebrow, and Remus closed his eyes.

"No, I didn't mean it like that." He opened the register and chopped change for a moment. "...You'll drive him to drink by the end of the week."

Harry hopped onto the counter. "Oh, much sooner than that. He's too easy. Gets mad about everything."

"Coming from the guy who takes chicken killing personally."

Tilting his head in acquisition, the brunette bit his lip.

"He really is inconsiderate, though. Rude. Inconsiderate. Did I mention he was rude?"

Remus walked over to his plants and gazed happily at the flourishing Columbine. Harry jumped down and followed with the water can and did as told, catching Remus' subtle, teasing glance his way.

"For someone as calm and collected as you usually are, Harry, this Draco Malfoy sure has made you uppity."

Harry put the can down and helped Remus turn the soil, his hands knitting into the rough dirt easily. "No one's uppity."

"Well let's change the subject then."

"Let's."

Rubbing his hands on his apron, and then turning away to roll out the hose, Remus let Harry take over for him and do a little watering on his myrtle trees and Begonias, who had decided to decolor a bit over night. Harry wiped his chin on his shoulder and sprayed carefully where Remus told him, as was their morning routine.

"Harry," the botanist suddenly began. "How old were you when your parents died?"

The brunette was taken back by the sudden question, and his beryl eyes widened a little, he turned back to his hosing and thought for a moment.

"They died when I was nine years old."

Remus dropped his hands into his pockets.

"Where did you go after that?"

Harry shot him an indulgent smile, "My Aunt's house. She took care of me, I suppose."

"You suppose?" Remus grabbed the artist's hand and moved it toward his lovely Oriental Poppies, still listening intently.

"She was an odd sort of woman. Liked everything very, very clean. Kind of like our Mr. Malfoy," he said, his eyes twinkling. "Except for his odd habit of dumping trash on the floor."

Remus grinned, mocking outrage. "He didn't? And in front of you!"

Black hair whipped up and down as Harry nodded. "He did. I told him some highly enlightening fish slash pollution facts and he suddenly decided I was crazy."

"We're on Malfoy again, you realize that."

Harry groaned. "Maybe I am crazy."

The bell over the shop jingled, and they turned to see Mrs. Sprout with a large bag of multi-colored candy. She had a highly elaborate witches hat on, and what seemed to be a protruding warty, plastic nose.

"Why Mrs. Sprout, you look wonderful!" Remus laughed. Her eyes glittered and Harry gave him the hose and ran forward to take the bag from her.

"What's all this?" he asked, the plastic bag heavier than he had thought.

"Early Halloween sale at the department stores!" She said happily. "I just love Halloween, the little children running about in funny costumes, pumpkin carving, and giving out candy. Ooh." She gave an excited wiggle. "It's almost as lovely as Christmas."

Harry set down the candy. "Nothing is better than Christmas."

She was so happy about Halloween, she walked forward and patted Harry's cheek lovingly, while Remus wiggled his eyebrows behind her back. Harry glared once she'd headed towards her workroom.

"I would have thought Sybil would be the one excited about the Sabbath." Remus called to her as he pruned. Harry cut a root for him easily, and Mrs. Sprout came back in.

"Oh but she is! Not for that witchery your speaking of Remus, but because her second cousin is threatening to kill her husband on Halloween. Sybil plans on being the first to know," she smiled, before popping a candy into her mouth.

Beside him, Harry had suddenly gone very still. He turned to the unusually startled boy as Mrs. Sprout disappeared.

"Are you alright?"

Remus could just see the side of Harry's face as he plucked a dead leaf from the bunches of roses in front of him. Harry suddenly glanced at him and smiled.

"Sure."

The bell jingled and Remus looked up to see two of his very favorite customers enter the shop. One, a very homely looking man with spectacles, of which Remus saw very little, and a kind motherly looking woman, both by the name of Weasley. They had more kids to be getting on with, all of which had bright orange hair and a splay of outrageous freckles. Mrs. Sprout poked her head out.

"Molly!"

There was a short reunion, in which gossip was much overdone, and Remus greeted Arthur Weasley warmly.

"So you're the wedding that called in! Which one is it Molly, which one?"

"Our youngest, she went away to college at Berkeley and came back with a fiancé! I was so excited. Very lovely young man also, majors in Physical Therapy," the redheaded woman gushed.

"A Doctor!" Mrs. Sprout exclaimed happily. "You must be so proud."

"Molly," Arthur prodded his wife. "They'll meet Ginny's fiancé soon enough. We need to schedule the appointment."

Molly nodded. "Oh yes, Pomona, will you be able to fit them in? I know the coming months are busy for you..."

"Of course I could! You needn't ask! Oh this is just so exciting."

Arthur turned to Remus nervously. "She's very happy."

Remus chuckled. "And is Ginny?"

"Almost as much as her mother. They're as thick as thieves." Weasley senior suddenly seemed to notice Harry, who had done an admirable job of staying hidden from the women, behind the same rebel Wisteria Remus had struggled with on the day they met.

"Who's this?"

Remus dragged Harry up to Arthur and they shook hands.

"Arthur meet my new stray, just showed up on the doorstep begging for food..."

Harry pushed away from him, laughing. "Hello Mr...?"

"Weasley, but call me Arthur," Arthur gave him a very warm smile. "What do you do, Harry?"

"A lot of things."

Remus rolled his eyes. "He's an artist."

"Artist?" Harry flinched a bit, before smiling in resignation. It was too late, Mrs. Sprout's eyes were already on him. "Molly, you must meet Harry!"

Molly shook his hand, and Harry gave a little bow. She smiled at him warmly, "Oh aren't you easy on the eyes."

Arthur patted her shoulder suddenly. "Shall we go now Molly? Lots to do..."

"Oh Arthur, don't be jealous," she gave him a light slap. "Hello Harry dear, very nice to meet you."

"And you, Mrs. Weasley."

"How old are you, dear?" she asked.

"Nineteen."

"Oh! My son Ronald is about the same age as you. Perhaps you should meet sometime."

Mrs. Sprout dragged Mrs. Weasley back into their conversation, and Harry was thankfully let off. Remus, sensing his distress, told him to go into the back and collect the arrangements for Mrs. Sprout. The Weasley's eventually left, and Harry came back out.

"Is everyone always that bubbly around here?"

Remus shrugged. "Not necessarily, they just don't show that their life sucks as much as we do."

Harry grinned. "Does our life suck Remus?"

Remus grinned back. "You tell me."

Much later on it seemed, Remus was welcomed with a very abrupt surprise.

Of course Harry always missed the best of things while making deliveries, and was therefore not present when Remus had this strange encounter. He turned as his door opened to someone only recently familiar, and a man he had never seen before.

The first, a Mr. Blaise Zabini, wearing very stylish slacks, a jean jacket, and a shirt that said 'Crotch Fire', sauntered in knowing that he was absolutely invited. The other, was less outward than Blaise, well, quite a bit less outward than Blaise, considering.

He was a tall, lean man, and his very presence in the shop called for immediate attention. He had long, ebony as Harry's hair, that was tied with string to make a tail. In lengthy black trousers, a very gray turtle neck, and wearing neatly polished shoes, stood a man Remus could not, and would not take his eyes off of. The man's face was long and chiseled, his features carefully sculpted as if he were hand picked for oddity by the gods themselves. Never had Remus seen someone with as much charisma as he. His own amber eyes met a very dark stare, of interest and slight appraisal, he could tell.

Blaise walked forward and shook his hand, turning one arm outstretched to introduce his companion. Remus straightened, suddenly aware of the dirt on his hands and the state of things around the shop. Surely someone as put together as this man thought him incompetent. He swallowed.

"Allow me to introduce, Severus Snape." Blaise chirped, before stamping one foot and turning to Severus. "Severus, meet Remus Lupin."

There was an instant where Remus couldn't decide whether to step forward and shake hands or not. He wasn't aware he even had hands. Severus seemed to solve that for him, and in one long shift forward, reached out to shake his hand. Remus was suddenly aware of long fingers and soft skin beneath his own.

"Severus works with flowers too, Remus. You're both fruity, I'll give you that, but I love you still. Say, where's Draco?"

Remus turned to Blaise, somewhat dazedly and smiled. "He's still at work."

"What?" Blaise cursed. "Work, work, work, that's all he does."

Severus met his eyes for a moment, and he looked down hastily, wiping his palms on his apron.

"I happened to come upon your article on the indigenous desert blossoms, and your recognition in the newspaper last winter. Quite an accomplishment, Mr. Lupin. You're talked of with great esteem."

He had a very low, sultry voice, that if you took it personally would seem mocking and arrogant. To Remus, who had met many people, and had known many egotistical scholars, this man was refreshing, and his attitude very much so welcomed.

"And you, Severus Snape. The botanist who correctly hypothesized the properties of Aconite, I'm honored to have you in my shop."

The man's lip curled. "Yes, though the triumph was short lived, since I've yet to shake the name Hecate."

"Reincarnated just to discover aconitum, once again. Who knew poison could be so healthy." Remus mentally shook himself. Was he flirting?

Severus gave a lopsided grin. "Some poisons are the best remedy, as you most likely know. Given your expertise." There was no mocking, Remus noticed, and that wretched klathump came back with a vengeance. He wondered if anyone would hear it.

"Since I have absolutely no idea what your talking about, shall I leave you two to get it on without me?" Blaise suddenly interrupted.

Remus blushed, and when he looked up, he only saw Severus giving Blaise a very casual smirk.

"Of course not. I forgot the attention you needed had tripled a small infant."

"Ah ha! Yes well, I'm a very smart infant."

"According to whom, and on what grounds?"

Blaise shook his head and rolled his eyes. "You're as uptight as Draco. Hey, Remus, don't talk to this guy, he's uptight."

Before Remus could respond, Severus interrupted, "He can talk to whomever pleases him. I'm sure our conversation is more stimulating then your inappropriate whining."

Blaise put a hand on his heart. "You wound me." He tapped his pockets suddenly, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. He gave a look between Remus and Severus, his face distorted by smoke, before pointing at them.

"You two have a lot in common. Say, Severus, didn't you go somewhere or another to study vegetable plants or something? Nigger agua...was it?" He turned to Remus and smiled wolfishly. "That's in Africa."

Severus snapped his head around to look at him carefully.

"Nicaragua. And that's in Central America, not Africa."

Blaise made a face and hissed through his teeth. "Whoops. Same thing."

Remus bit his lip to keep from laughing as Severus turned back to him.

"I have recently returned from a sojourn to Kenya, and other such terrains in Africa. All of which had a wide variety of vegetation." Severus paused, leaning over Remus carefully to feel the velvety leaves behind him. "In fact, your research helped me greatly while in the desert plains. I should be thanking you."

Remus swallowed as Severus moved back, though considerably closer. Beside them, Blaise suddenly snorted, turning away to tap his ashes into the nearest plant.

"Well," Severus smirked. "I believe it's time for us to be going, yes, Zabini? Draco is not here, and we've invaded this man's shop long enough."

"You haven't really!" Remus heard himself stutter."I mean, you haven't met Harry yet."

Blaise snapped his fingers, suddenly excited. "Oh yeah, Sev, you've got to meet him, he's a riot." The botanist smiled indulgently."If he's anything like you, I think I'll pass."

"No, Harry's much more subtle. You'll like him. Remus likes him, don't you Remus?"

Remus nodded. "I do."

"See! And Draco positively hates him, it only makes it better that you should be taken with his arch enemy."

Taken? Remus suddenly thought, and then sighed, but of course he may be attracted to Harry. Who wouldn't be?

"Draco Malfoy pays no regard to anyone's opinion but his own. And if he did it would only be to prove himself right. He's intolerable."

Blaise swung an arm around Severus' shoulder and nudged him playfully.

"See? See? We'll get Draco all fucked up." He exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Though Harry's doing a fine job without us."

Severus let out a suffering sigh.

"We shall meet later," there was jingle as Mrs. Sprout walked in with the nursery home patients, and two of the vendors down the street, talking animatedly. "Since it seems Mr. Lupin has customers."

"Please, call me Remus."

That smirk was back, unforgettably charming, and the amber-eyed man wondered at his own daring. He smiled, hoping it didn't seem shy, and those dark eyes seemed to know exactly what thoughts were passing through his mind.

Severus nodded.

"Remus."


	10. On Loss

The much anticipated rain, a wish that Draco didn't get until late October, seemed to pour from the sky uneasily. The clouds broke and the sun emerged, on and off throughout the days, leaving wet though very bright weather. Along with the torrent, a wind had breezed through, blowing away vender carts, and raising skirts.

The rain came in slow bursts, and when everything misted over into a quiet gray, it was murky and low for the inhabitants of the loft. No one on the streets had any aversion to the weather, just because of the new and fresh feeling that came after the rain, and even those select few not savvy with flowers, were right to assume that the weather was good for growth.

Blaise Zabini stood outside Fleur-de-lis, his arms tucked into his jacket, and his eyebrows scrunched from the wind. A long thin smoke trail sizzled from his cigarette, and he switched his weight as he gazed out at the wet and dreary street. The clouds had taken over, spreading a gray chill across east New York, and they seemed to Blaise as endless.

He was currently standing in a puddle, just outside the stoop where he could hear the muffled laughter and chatter from inside. People passed by him in the streets, some with umbrellas, some that simply made do with coats over their heads.

The rain lashed down in drip dropping gushes, and the sound of water hitting pavement, and wind against stone was relaxing to Blaise. He watched the cars honk and gather into traffic, as feet splashed into puddles, and the sky thundered above them. Blaise took a drag of his smoke, suddenly aware of how cold it had gotten. The late afternoon sun was nowhere to be seen as he dropped his cigarette into the puddle at his feet, watching as the embers slowly simmered out. He turned to go back inside, his arms wrapped around himself against the wind.

The bell over the door jingled, and let in a spray of dripping water all over Blaise's shoulders, he scowled, and tried to brush it off, nearly tripping over a lethal looking plant beside the door. Muttering to himself, he came into the shop quite cold, and watched as Remus and Harry teased Dennis, who was sitting on the counter sulking. They were playing cards, and Remus was moving around plants, each of them indifferent to waiting within the shop until the rain subsided. Blaise looked at the antique clock above the counter and grimaced, wondering when Draco would decide to show up.

He sat down on the stool with a sigh, suddenly very down. Remus brushed the soil off of his hands, yawning, before telling Dennis to get off of the counter. Dennis gave Harry a ten and ignored him. The botanist shook his head, before stating it was time for coffee and disappearing into the back. Blaise sighed again.

Harry glanced up from his cards. "What's the matter?"

Still, Blaise looked morosely away.

"Go fish," said Dennis, who seemed oblivious.

"Blaise, what's the matter?"

"Nothing."

Harry looked at his hand before giving Blaise a glare. "Somehow, I doubt that."

Blaise suddenly sat up."Have you ever wanted something so much your chest aches like a thousand needles plunging into your heart?"

The brunette blinked, before exchanging an uneasy look with Dennis.

He shrugged. "I guess..."

"Then you know how I feel, yeah? It's fucked up Harry, fucked up."

Harry's brow furrowed a bit."What's the matter?"

Blaise slumped in his seat and buried his head into his hands in frustration. He gave a loud grown."I hate Halloween."

While reaching for a card, Harry suddenly stilled, turning to look at Blaise carefully.

"Why is that?"

Dennis cackled as he got another match and Blaise glared at him before slouching down dejectedly. He sighed.

"Blaise?" Harry questioned, suddenly very nervous.

Dennis tapped him on the arm to go fish but the artist wasn't listening.

With his hands raised to the ceiling, Blaise suddenly said, "Why? Why must 'Crotch Fire' play on Halloween? Why?"

Harry stared. "'Crotch Fire'?"

"Only the greatest band in the history of hardcore Metal."

Dennis nodded. "Yeah, hardcore."

"It sounds like some kind of warming lubricant, I know, but they're fantastic. Anyway, I can't go because Hermione always makes me dress up with her cousins and go trick or treating. The costumes Harry," he stood up and shook Harry by the shoulders, "...the costumes!"

Blaise raised his hands to the sky, again. "Why?"

"That's it," Harry said, and they both looked at him. Harry's tone had been cold, and very unlike his usual casual self. The artist looked at Blaise as if he had told him he was a transsexual, which quickly turned to anger. Both expressions foreign on the brunette's face.

"What do mean, that's it?" Blaise said rudely. "It's fucking 'Crotch Fire'!"

Harry jumped off the counter, and Dennis yelled 'hey!' as his cards were dropped to the floor. The artist made for the door, but Blaise caught his arm.

"Hey, wait..."

Harry pushed him away. "Just...you...so stupid! I thought you were serious."

"Yeah," Blaise said slowly."I was serious. What's the deal?"

Shaking his head roughly, the brunette frowned before tearing out of the shop. The bell tinkled madly and both Dennis and Blaise looked at Harry's form from inside the shop curiously.

The cold air from outside stung Harry's face as he leaned against the flower shop wall, folding his arms around himself against the cold. He placed a hand across his brow and cursed, cursing himself for making such an embarrassing scene back in there with Blaise. The door opened again, and water dripped steadily down the roof and over the cover of the shop. Blaise stood by him suddenly, wrapped in his jacket as well.

They stood for a while, watching the cars pass and the sky get blacker. The rain made the streets slick, and inside the gargantuan puddles, courtesy of the potholes nick named abyss, they could see their blurry reflections and chilled faces. Blaise cast a look at his companion, who was flushed from the cold. His eyes were vivid, and his hair hung about his face. Harry's cheeks were rosy from embarrassment, and Blaise refrained from placing a hand on his shoulder. Harry bit his lip.

"I'm sorry."

Blaise shrugged."What was that all about?"

Harry's expression turned impassive to taciturn, as if tamed by the sudden calm, even as the wind and rain splashed about them. The artist suddenly turned to him and smiled, his hands in his pockets for warmth.

"I don't much like Halloween either."

Blaise had to wait until Draco showed up, which wasn't until late. He'd waited around for a while, perfectly fine with joking around with Remus, Dennis, and Harry, who acted as if nothing happened. Though he did seem withdrawn, Blaise thought, any other emotions that could have possessed Harry were lost to him, because in being a very closed minded, and decidedly oblivious person, Blaise hadn't noticed.

Halloween fell on that Sunday, and Dennis had come over to talk about the dance he was supposed to go to at school. Further reminder of the holiday only proved to depress Blaise, and silence Harry. He talked less and less throughout the day.

When Draco came in, Blaise nearly jumped on him to relieve the sudden tension.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked.

"You don't remember? We're going for Halloween costumes tonight, you know it's Hermione's favorite day."

Draco shrugged off Blaise's arm and walked towards the stairs. Blaise caught up with him and dragged him back to the group."We talked about this."

"Hello Mr. Malfoy," Dennis said, shuffling the cards.

Draco smiled at him insincerely.

"It's raining."

Blaise looked at him."No? Really?" He scuffed his feet on the floor and smiled at Harry.

"The floor seems kind of muddy, Harry, you slacking on the job?"

Harry glanced up from the plant he was helping Remus spread fertilizer on, and suddenly seemed nervous.

"Um..."

The botanist, who watched the two interact, placed a hand on Harry's arm lightly.

"He was joking, Harry."

He looked down again at the plant, distracted once more. Dennis, who sat atop the counter, glanced at Remus who glanced at Blaise. Draco sniffed.

"The stupid rain is messing with my allergies."

"Well," said Blaise, clasping his hands together happily. "Since you've forgotten, shall I call Hermione and cancel?"

Draco shook his head.

"Oh no, you're not using me as an excuse."

They scowled at each other, and Remus told Dennis to get off of the counter.

"Fine. But you're coming with me, then."

Draco sighed heavily, looking longingly up at the staircase, no doubt envisioning a night of peace.

"No, Blaise."

His friend pouted. "But I can't wait! I don't want to get the last costume, it's always the m&m, always!"

The blond rolled his eyes, smoothing down his suit.

"Blaise...she's not my girlfriend. And if she was, I think I'd kill myself. Just because you're dumb enough to agree with everything she says...go be an m&m for all I care..."

"I do not fucking agree with everything she fucking says!"

"Language," Remus warned, and Dennis grinned.

"Speaking of which Mr. Hypopocrite..."

"Hypocrite."

"Whatever," Blaise waved a hand. "You let Pansy drag you around like a fucking puppy."

"Language."

Dennis hopped down and took off his jacket, throwing it at Remus who scowled.

"Who's Pansy?"

"His fucking fiance, that's who. Now she's a fucking bitch."

There was a sudden awkward silence, and Draco glared at Blaise intensely. Blaise frowned and followed his gaze to Harry, who seemed unaffected. In fact, it was only Draco who seemed reluctant to admit at having a fiancé, seeing as Harry was still off in his own little world. Draco gritted his teeth at him, his handsome face flushed and stature completely stiff. He started up the staircase with Blaise behind him, still chattering.

When they were gone, Remus turned to Harry, his mouth open to ask him something, but Harry was staring intently at the plant beneath him.

"He's engaged?" he suddenly asked.

Remus glanced at Dennis, who frowned.

"I think I heard something about it in the papers...he's marrying her for money no doubt..."

"Dennis!" Remus admonished.

There was an awkward silence, once again, and Remus looked at Harry as the brunette placed the potted Begonia roots he was fertilizing on the ground.

"I think it's likely he'd marry for money," Dennis said. "Jerk."

"That's assuming a lot, you know."

Remus turned back to Harry.

"Do you want to take Halloween off? You haven't had a day to yourself in a month."

The artist looked up at him and smiled, his beryl eyes suddenly happy. He hopped up on the counter where Remus was marking checks; disturbing the botanist's work.

"Sure. I'll paint all day."

Remus smiled back.

"When is the art show?"

"In early December, I've got a month before I have to go to the hanging, and then the show opens on a Saturday. I don't usually do art shows, but well...freelance isn't all that great when you're unknown."

"I don't know about that," smiled Remus. "How many pieces are going into it?"

"Twelve, for me, the front pieces are a few new artists I suppose. I've got the back."

Remus looked up, surprised.

"Harry that's wonderful! You didn't tell me that!"

The brunette grinned and glanced down shyly, and Remus clapped him on the shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. He suddenly changed his mind and gave the artist a shove, and he went toppling to the ground. "Now get off my counter."

Dennis burst out laughing.

"Hermione, no. I'm sorry. No...what?.. .I am fucking sincere."

They all turned to look at Blaise, as he came stomping down the stairs yelling into his cell phone as if his life depended on it, in which, when it came to Hermione, it very well could have. Harry got up from the floor and glared. He turned to Dennis, rubbing his bottom.

"You should come to the opening. I'm not sure who'll be there, but there will be free food."

"Free food!" Blaise exclaimed, closing his phone with a snap. "Can I go, Harry?"

"Did you just hang up on her?" Harry asked.

"No. So what are we talking about?"

Dennis swung the stool around, before leaning back; making it tip dangerously.

"Harry's art show."

"Well it isn't my art show."

"Really?" Blaise lit a cigarette. "Say Harry, Draco and I might go out tomorrow for Halloween, if Hermione isn't talking to me, why don't you come with?"

Harry thought for a moment, his eyebrows creasing. "Have you asked Malfoy about this?"

Blaise smirked, shaking his head in amusement."Do I look stupid? I want you to go, there's this party at the Waldorf we might hit. I think if I show up with you in tow more people will talk to me."

"Not a chance," Draco said from the stairs.

He'd changed into a casual though elegant shirt and slacks, and looked more approachable if not quite as intimidating as before. Outside, the rain suddenly started to pour, and Blaise whooped excitedly.

"No costume shopping. Looks like I'm staying here tonight, Draco."

Draco's eyes were on the rain outside and he cursed.

"You can stay as well Dennis, I know you have to walk," Remus offered.

"Really!" The teen said, excited.

"Sure. Go call your mom, we're closing anyway."

While Blaise trailed after Draco and up the stairs to the loft, Remus and Dennis conversed quietly, before moving into the back. Harry, who stood looking out the window, suddenly came aware of himself and shook his head forcefully. He switched the open sign to closed and went outside to bring down the gate. The rain was coming down fast and in huge droplets, and Harry's back soon became dotted from the water dripping off of the roof.

He brought the gate down slowly, his hands cold, before locking it into place. He stood in the rain for a moment, watching the traffic and staring into space. The buildings were slick with wet rain, and windows created spider webs of water drops. Puddles gathered and the smell of liquid on asphalt reached his nose. He scrunched it up, annoyed, before wrapping his arms around his torso.

He thought for a moment, on his latest painting, aware of the memories it dredged up, and things that he'd really rather not talk about. Tilting his head, a new idea came to the brunette, and his fingers itched to test it out with black acrylic and some chalk. As for the ever irritating Mr. Malfoy, and the thought came to him suddenly; he thought this Pansy deserved Draco, seeing as they were both made for each other when it came to being absolute snobs. Harry sighed.

The artist really did hate Halloween. Sure, there were leaves and wind, and the weather just on the cusp of being freezing. It was nice to hand out candy and go to costume parties. He bit his lip and turned around, walking back into the shop. Halloween always made him uncomfortable. A day of remembrance, maybe, but still a holiday he'd hated since he was nine years old. The day his parents had been murdered.

Draco couldn't sleep that night. His head was spinning from his allergies, and though he'd taken medicine, it hadn't seemed to have helped. Outside, the rain stopped if only for a short period of time. He walked out of his room and saw the boy, Dennis, sleeping beside Harry's mattress, and tufts of hair sticking out from the couch, where Draco assumed Blaise had bunked. He sighed and walked to the refrigerator, turning on the stove light and grabbing a glass.

He looked back down at the floor, and suddenly noticed that Harry wasn't among the others. Getting out the milk, of which he'd gotten just to piss Harry off, he glanced around for the brunette but couldn't see him anywhere. His eyes found the backpack beside Harry's painting. The pack sat harmlessly, tape barely keeping it together, and paint stains all over its pockets and straps. He glared distastefully at it, before his eyes caught the draw string to the roof. He walked up the spiral staircase and over to it, his glass of milk in his hand, and pulled the ladder down.

When he stepped out into the freezing night, he saw Harry sitting on a chair facing the city, bundled in a blanket and wide awake. Draco thought for a moment that maybe he should leave, now that his curiosity had been curbed, but then Harry turned his head to look at him.

"Couldn't sleep?" Draco asked, clearing his throat.

"No," Harry smiled tiredly.

"Me neither."

Draco watched Harry as he looked up at the cloud covered night, and his body gave a sudden jolt. Harry was so beautiful...his long ebony hair that Draco was sure was as soft as it looked. Those large, lovely eyes, and that sweet, charismatic smile. The blond had never seen anyone as wonderfully good looking as Harry, inside and out. He was interesting, smart...no..no, infuriating...annoying, he was a complete idiot.

"Are you sleeping up here?" Draco snapped.

Harry swept his hair back.

"No, I just came out for some air."

Draco nodded stiffly. "It's cold."

"So go back inside."

"Maybe I will."

"It's going to start raining anyway, it smells like it," said Harry.

"I can't smell anything."

Draco stood by the chair and pushed his hair behind his ears.

"That's because I was being smart with you."

"Were you really? That's a first."

Harry tucked his leg underneath himself as the wind tussled his hair.

"Not this again."

"What again?"

"You being so hostile all the time. Don't you get tired of it?"

"I'm awake aren't I."

"Now who's being smart. And don't say you started it, it'll make it worse."

Draco shook his head, frowning. "Make what worse?"

"Never mind."

The blond groaned."You're the most complicated person I've ever met..."

Harry laughed. "How many people have you exactly met?"

"A lot, and they were all pretty complicated."

"You should get some sleep."

"And you shouldn't, I'm guessing."

"I don't have to work tomorrow."

"Ah, the leisure time you're lucky to have. I envy your bum status."

Harry sighed, bringing the blanket up to his shoulders and sinking lower in his chair.

"Maybe you should leave before we start fighting."

Draco looked down at his glass.

"Maybe I will."

The brunette grinned. "Wouldn't want to catch a cold."

Draco tried, as he turned away from that smile, to block out the look on Harry's face. The way he folded in that chair, or even the artist's voice. He found his attempts unsuccessful, and gave up trying to ignore it. Instead, that grin bothered him all night, and not even milk, bought just to anger and irritate said brunette, would get him to sleep.

The next day was as wet as the first, and the rain continued its silent fall. Halloween morning began with Mrs. Sprout waking them all up cheerfully, they all trudged down the stairs to see her in a large green circular outfit. Blaise, ever subtle, exclaimed, "What the fuck are you wearing?" and Mrs. Sprout giggled happily. "I'm a Brussel Sprout, do you get it?" Needless to say, none of them laughed. She asked them where their costumes were, and Blaise suddenly had someone to call, Harry had to water, and Dennis had to help Harry. So much for vegetable suits.

Customers came in throughout the day, buying different flowers for parties and such festivities. The only other Holiday that was this busy for Remus was Easter, so he made sure to have helping hands close by. Remus had his mind somewhere else when Blaise and Draco left, and it still continued to drift when Harry asked him a question.

"What on earth is the matter Remus? Hello? Remus?"

Harry flashed a hand in front of the botanist's face, and Remus shook his head, blinking.

"Just thinking Harry, that's all."

The brunette looked skeptical, but let it go.

The honest truth, for Remus though it was hard to admit, was that he couldn't get his wretched mind off of Severus Snape. As disgustingly romantic as it sounded, Remus' first meeting with the man had confused him, and made him considerably pleased. He wasn't stupid, he knew when someone was hitting on him. After dating Sirius, who was about as sharp as a doorknob, he needn't look carefully at these things. No slandering on Sirius' part, but they just hadn't worked, hadn't had the charisma that he had suddenly had with Severus. Sirius deserved someone less demanding than Remus, for that was what he truly believed.

He also debated whether having any hope at dating the other botanist had any merit, he didn't fancy it did, so he kept his thoughts to himself. It was hard not to feel elation when he remembered the way the other man had leant across him, or simply the look in this dark, ebony eyes. Remus sighed, he shouldn't hope, he knew.

Halloween was dreary that year, and though it had rained all night and half the day, when the kids started trick or treating it was damp, but no longer raining. Possibly, the silent hopes of thousands of little children were heard, and the torrent subsided. Mrs. Sprout, dressed up as well, a sprout, chuckled over Dennis' Musketeer costume, and Remus decided to dress as a hippie. They all sat around waiting for Dennis' mom to show up, he left for the dance and Harry came down from the loft with paint all over his shirt and in his hair.

"What are you supposed to be?" said Mrs. Sprout. Harry looked confused for a moment, before putting his paint brush behind his ear.

"Nothing."

Mrs. Sprout shook her head.

"You're just nothing? On Halloween?"

Harry looked at his feet and nodded, suddenly tense. Remus thought fleetingly, not again.

"Say Harry, what are doing tonight? You've been painting all day, how's about giving it a rest?"

Harry shook his head.

"I have to finish. I've only got six pieces done..."

"So you're half finished..."

"No Remus, I don't..."

"Why don't you go with Blaise and Draco, I know Blaise invited you..."

The brunette suddenly snapped, his eyes bright with fury, and his face flushed.

"I don't want to, alright? I don't want to be around that... jerk! I don't want to go!"

There was silence, and Remus looked unsurely at Mrs. Sprout. Harry calmed down a bit, staring at his feet in shame.

"What did he say to you now?" Remus asked.

Harry shook his head. "The usual."

"When?"

"Last night...I got up, had to climb over Dennis and Blaise, who rolled off the couch." Harry shrugged. "He was...nice."

"Wait...he was nice?"

The artist nodded, before adjusting the brush behind his ear. "He asked me if I couldn't sleep, and I said no, and he said 'me neither.'"

Remus waited for more, but Harry didn't say anything.

"That's it?"

Again, he was silent.

Abruptly, Remus' brain decided to work for him, and everything snapped into place. Harry was lying. There was no encounter, no Draco bashing, nothing...Harry was trying to make up for yelling at him, yelling at him for something having nothing to do with Draco Malfoy. Or did it? Remus didn't know, but he had caught on, and he let Harry go back up to the loft with a nod. Remus wondered how someone could be as complicated as Harry.

When the sun had gone down, Mrs. Sprout sat outside on the stoop with her bag of multi-colored candy, ready to pass them out to the children in costumes on the street. The wind had picked up a bit, blowing away wet leaves and drying puddles. It wasn't until half past eight that Blaise came in wearing an m&m suit, and Remus laughed his ass off, accordingly. Draco shook his head and said, "It's your fault."

Blaise jumped around them in his suit, his hair flopping madly in front of his face.

"Is Harry going with us, Remus, did you ask him?"

Remus shook his head.

"He doesn't want to go."

Draco stopped Blaise from jumping around."You invited Potter?"

"What's with the last names? Yeah, I like him, even if you don't."

Draco sniffed.

"I never said I didn't."

Blaise went 'ah ha' and pointed."So you do like him."

The blond gave a very rare blush, and frowned. "What?"

His friend danced around them, looking completely ridiculous in the round yellow m&m, Draco watched him in frustration until he managed to shove Blaise away, who fell to the floor with a plop.

"You could try convincing him," tried Remus.

"Do it." Blaise said from the floor.

"You invited him without my consent," Draco said, looking down at Blaise.

"I don't need your consent you fucking crazy." Blaise pushed away the raised part of the yellow suit that covered his face as he spoke, before laying his head down on the floor. "Crazy..." he mumbled.

"Get up, come on."

Draco made towards the stairs, taking them two at a time, but with elegance, before opening the door to the loft. The stereo that had magically appeared, from what he guessed was Harry's paycheck, played loud music that echoed throughout the loft. Draco liked the band, but would not admit it to Harry, who seemed completely distracted with his painting. Draco walked towards him, and watched Harry's smooth pale wrist move to some kind of rhythm, spreading paint across the canvas.

He cleared his throat.

"Are you coming tonight?"

Harry didn't not look at him as he painted, and Draco took a moment to observe the painting. He wanted to say to Harry, 'I like it.' or, 'why is it so dark', or even 'I'm sorry, it's obvious to me you're not overrated'.

"Are you coming or not?" He snapped, instead.

Damn his infernal mouth, he cursed, couldn't he be polite just once...

Harry turned his bright green eyes onto Draco, and the blond was suddenly ashamed and very distracted by those very green orbs.

"I hadn't planned on it, no." The artist stepped away and washed his brush, throwing the cloth stained with paint over his shoulder.

"Why not?" Draco snapped.

Harry shrugged. "I don't do Halloween parties."

"Why not?"

"I don't have a costume." Harry stepped back onto the tarp and shuffled through his paints.

"Neither do I," Draco said.

"I beg to differ!"

They turned to see that the yellow m&m had indeed gotten up from the floor. He raced into Draco's room, ignoring the 'what the?' before coming out with what looked to Draco as rags. Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"I figured you wouldn't need it any more, Wonder Bread boy, so I took the liberty of making it into a costume."

Draco looked closer at the garment, and suddenly his mouth dropped open. "That's my Armani!"

Blaise wagged a finger at him. "It used to be your Armani, now it's your costume!"

He marched up to Draco and put the pants, which had been cut off and rubbed in dirt, and the now torn and stained jacket, up to Draco's body.

"You're a cast away! A very hot cast away might I add..."

"Blaise!" Draco growled. "I can't believe you..this was-"

"Three thousand dollars." Harry and Blaise finished for him. The yellow m&m cocked his head. "We know. There you have it, go change."

Draco looked at the ruined suit and then laughed sarcastically.

"Not on your life, Zabini. I'll go to the party as Draco Malfoy, thank you very much."

Blaise stomped a foot. "But then no one will talk to you! That's guy's a fucking asshole."

"Ha. Ha."

"Look," Blaise tried. "You shave your legs anyway, so what would you be revealing with those pants? And we all know how sexy you are with your top open...especially now that your sternum's fixed."

"No, Blaise, I'm not doing it. We'll go as ourselves, now go change."

Blaise pouted, before turning on his heel and slamming the door. His yellow suit got caught and he had to open the door again to tug it out. Draco turned to Harry, who was dabbing paint onto the canvas indifferently.

"I'd like you to go."

What? Draco thought, not knowing what had possessed him to say that. Harry seemed to be thinking along the same lines, and turned to stare at him, unsure.

"You would?"

Draco swallowed.

"Well, see, Blaise wanted you to go, and he's such a whiney...well, he'll complain all night, and..."

He stopped, seeing as he no longer had Harry's attention.

"I think it would be alright...really..."

Harry turned to him and tilted his head, thinking. "I'd really rather not. I need to finish this for the show."

"Show?" Draco asked.

Harry set down his paint and nodded, distracted. "December." He looked back up at Draco, wiping his hands on the cloth. "You can go if you like."

"To an art show? I go to some. I doubt this one will be spectacular if you're in it."

Draco cursed violently in his head. He cursed having a stupid sharp tongue, and he cursed finding enjoyment in torturing other people. Couldn't he just once, be a nice guy?

Harry however, simply smiled.

"I think you're right on that one. Thanks for the invite to the party, but I think I'll pass."

Draco shrugged one shoulder. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

Blaise came out of Draco's bedroom wearing the torn Armani jacket and the jeans, stating he was about to take trendy New York by storm. They left the way they came, with the easiness that only came to someone who had endless possibilities in front of them.

Harry looked back at his canvas, and looked down at the candy Mrs. Sprout had given him when he'd walked out into the shop. He popped a butterscotch into his mouth, his eyes on the window where the wind blew against the stained glass.

The canvas in front of him seemed endless in the amount of work it needed, and in an effort to concentrate better, Harry turned up the music and blocked out the voices from downstairs, and of closing of doors.

His paint brush led him across the vast black of his background, something conjured just for his own Halloween spirit. He waited for midnight, when the nightmare would be over.


	11. Surprising Appearances

With the lights flashing, and the ground thrumming beneath his feet; it was almost impossible for Draco to hear what Blaise was saying. The heat from the dance floor made everything glisten, as the tightly dancing bodies moved to the steady beat of the music. Cold air blew from the filters, scattering bubbles across the ceiling, a silvery sheen of twinkle lights fell across the stage, and above them hung large crystalized chandeliers. Silver and blue waves drifted across the floor, and the crowd followed the movement in pantomime. Draco stood close to Blaise beside the bar, trying to listen to his friend's cheerful yells.

Draco ordered his standard White Russian, and a third drink for Blaise, who hadn't even thought about paying all night. They shuffled through the clumps of people and climbed the stairs to the balcony, where Pansy sat with McLaggen, and a guy named Smith, who closely resembled a weasel. Pansy had her face pinched in annoyance, and Draco bit his lip to keep from laughing at her expression. He imagined that Smith and Pansy wouldn't necessary get along well. Considering the guy had a nastier disposition than his wife-to-be.

Hermione had insisted that Blaise bring McLaggen, seeing as she was ever in the process of changing the impossible. Blaise was convinced that any brain cells left in McLaggen's head were probably comatose, and in no shape for cognitive thought. He'd let out a very loud sigh, but dragged the other man along with them anyway.

Pansy took her scotch carefully, raising an eyebrow at Draco as he sat down. Their table was in the reserved corner, and Draco didn't even bother to acknowledge those that were staring. Only the best of the best got into the places Draco got into, and he was sure that was the way it was supposed to be. The Pearl, a screamingly posh, undisturbed by plebeians, and relatively safe from authorities club, was the only place that lived up to his standards. The establishment certainly lived up to its name as well; elegant, daringly bold, and what Draco liked to call 'artistically polished', he never had any objection to Blaise suggesting they go. He wouldn't say much for Pansy, who hated pretty much everything anyway.

"So!" Blaise yelled, sitting down next to Pansy."What did you all have to chat about?"

She gave him a look that promised hell, and he smiled at her widely.

"You know Draco, I don't think Pansy's having a great time. Why don't you go dance?"

Draco took a look at Pansy, and saw her face turn sour. "In that?" she said, pointing at the thrashing bodies. Blaise turned around to look as well.

"I don't see why not. Draco wants to dance, don't you Draco?"

"Blaise, knock it off," Draco growled. Smith swallowed down the rest of his drink and stood up.

"I need another."

"We're not driving you home," stated Blaise, rather rudely.

"That's too bad, I thought we'd get somewhere tonight, Zabini."

Blaise raised his hands in defeat. "Well in that case!"

Smith pushed through a crowd and set off downstairs, with a scowl thrown their way, he made a beeline for the bar. Blaise shook his head.

"That guy...man is he fucked up." He lit a cigarette and shook his head again.

"He works on your floor. You just had to ask him to sit with us," Draco snapped, and Blaise leaned forward and tapped his ashes into a tray.

"Yeah well, can't be rude can we?"

Draco snorted. His friend never had any qualms about being rude to anyone, and the only other time he did was when he was either sick or out of his mind.

"So Pansy, when is the much anticipated wedding? Every time I ask you it always changes!"

His fiancé raised an eyebrow, taking a delicate sip from her drink. "We planned June, but I'm thinking of moving it up."

Draco suddenly started choking. "W-what?"

"Draco, honestly darling, do you really want to have an outdoor wedding in June? It will be horribly hot, and though I don't sweat, I can't imagine my bridesmaids with...stains."

"Hey, hey!" Blaise pointed his cigarette at them. "They have pads for pit stains, yeah, you stick them," he lifted an arm and pointed underneath his arm. "There, and they soak all the sweat up."

Draco and Pansy stared, for an oddly obtuse moment at Blaise, who nodded enthusiastically. She closed her eyes for half a second before turning back to Draco.

"Mother says June is just too scorching at the Gardens."

"The Gardens? When did this change?" asked Draco, clenching his fists around his glass.

"Well we couldn't really have it in Central Park, that horrible arch..."

"I liked that arch."

"Draco, don't be whiney."

"Yeah Draco, don't be whiney."

"Shut up, Blaise. Pansy, we should have talked about this..."

"We just did," she said, and turned her head away in response to his anger. He bit his lip so hard it hurt, and tried not to cause a scene. Blaise smiled at him when they caught each other's eye, and he looked away quickly.

"What was that, McLaggen?" Blaise said, leaning close to hear what the other man was saying. McLaggen stood up."Oh, okay."

"Where's he going?" Draco asked.

"The bathroom. You think he's alright by himself?" He said, putting out his smoke.

"I'm sure he's smarter than you think, Blaise."

Now both of his companions gave him a look, but swiftly glanced away, lest they be caught agreeing on Draco's insanity. Draco leaned back in his chair, thinking on the 'argument' that was sure to happen once they left the club. He was more than a little upset that Pansy had changed their arrangements, and he could feel the impending wedding rising up to tower over him ominously. Too hot, Pansy had said, what did that mean? A wedding in winter? But it was the middle of November already, and one Mr. Malfoy was not ready to settle into married life.

He supposed it took a lot for him to admit that, though it didn't seem so hard when he and Pansy fought over their plans. What was important, at least he thought, was work and marriage. His father had grilled it into his head over and over, and Draco believed it as much as his heart would let him. Marriage and work, and he supposed, death, because that's all that came after that. As well as making children, and Draco flinched. He hated kids.

"Oh, no way!" Blaise suddenly exclaimed, and Draco looked at him. His friend had his back to him, and was facing out over the balcony, straight across the opposite side of the second floor. "It's Harry!"

Snapping his head to look past Blaise so fast it cracked, he saw that across the void sat Harry Potter, with two rather rich looking men. One of them was in a form fitting blazer, brown jeans, and glasses, while the man next to him-who Draco noticed was incredibly handsome-was in club wear, light whites and blue slacks. Harry sat in his standard frays, his hair wild though not untamable, a simple black shirt and jeans, with his tattered jacket across his chair. He was laughing, rather friendly with his two companions, and though they both looked loaded with money (and a certain sense of style) Harry still fit in rather well with them.

"I'm going to go say hey." Blaise hopped up.

"No, don't!" Draco said, reaching out for his friend's jacket.

But he was already gone. He looked on in absolute desperation, as Blaise made his way to Harry's table. He covered his face with his hand, and looked at Pansy, who glared.

"Who's Harry?" she asked.

"Oh, you know, my roommate?" he said, offhandedly.

Her gaze turned steely, and he withered a bit more. "Oh." she took a look across the room, though it was impossible to tell which one was Harry if she hadn't met him before. They both watched, Draco somewhat slouching, as Blaise gave Harry a punch on the shoulder and interrupted their conversation. Harry turned to him and smiled, distinctively saying, "Blaise!" before they launched into introductions.

"Well let's go meet him," said Pansy, setting down her drink and getting up. Draco's eyes widened.

"W-well, hey, maybe we shouldn't..."

"Come along, Draco."

Draco got up obediently, and they walked around the tables and across the glittering bridge to the other side. When they reached the table, it was evident that Blaise was talking about someone, or in fact, them, since he was boisterously gesticulating across the room. They all laughed at something he said, and when Draco and Pansy came forward, his friend gave them a look.

"Speak of the devil!"

"Blaise, why don't you introduce us," Pansy said, her eyes on Harry. The brunette smiled at her, and she bristled. Draco suddenly found a protective hand on his arm.

"Oh well, Pansy, this is Harry, Draco's roommate."

Pansy looked at him as if he were the lowest of lowest, and Draco felt shame splash red onto his face. Harry didn't seem too aware of her hatred though, and reached out to clasp her hand companionably. She didn't take it.

He looked rather confused, when the awkward silence continued, his hand stretched outward and neglected. The table kind of simmered into a hush, aware that Pansy was committing a very rude offense. They all watched in shock as Harry's arm slowly went down. Blaise suddenly reached forward and grabbed Harry's hand, pulling him up and close.

"Come on Harry, let's dance."

The artist pushed him away, smiling a little. The moment was saved, and Draco glared at his fiancé. "No more drinks for you." Harry said, and turned to him."Hello, Draco."

Draco, moving his upset gaze from Pansy to Harry (where it immediately softened) nodded his head politely. "Potter."

"You're Draco Malfoy." The man-with-the-glasses, said.

"And you are..." he asked.

"Percy Weasley. This is Oliver Wood." he gestured to the handsome other, who winked at him and smiled. Wood's eyes turned back to Harry, and there was an unmistakable glint in his gaze. Draco watched closely as Wood examined his roommate, seemingly unaware of Draco watching him. There was a very hot feeling in his face, and a certain pressure in his chest, that only expanded when Harry flashed a smile-that smile-at Wood.

"Draco, Wood is an old friend of Harry's," said Blaise conversationally.

Grinding his teeth, Draco frowned."Really?"

"Sure thing," Wood said, sitting up in his seat, he gave Draco a grin. "Met Harry a while ago in Amsterdam, for an art opening."

"Oliver deals with anyone who wants my paintings in their shows, and any who want me to paint on commission." Harry stated.

"My Harry's very popular." Wood joked, flicking a napkin at the brunette. Blaise's eyes grew wide.

"Are you two...?"

Harry frowned in confusion, tilting his head in thought, before laughing. "Oliver and I? No, never have been."

Draco ignored the tension that seemed to free in his chest, though it did come back surprisingly fast when Wood looked downcast. The man tapped his hands on the table and leaned back in his chair, looking too sly for Draco's liking.

"It's impossible for Harry to have a long-term relationship," the man stated, shaking his head.

"Oliver..." Harry said nervously, and his face flushed.

"Never stops moving," he continued."One second you're best buds with the guy, and he disappears right under your nose. Then you don't see him for years after..."

Harry looked away quickly.

"Amsterdam?" Blaise suddenly interrupted."Didn't know you'd been that far in your travels, Harry."

Draco cast Blaise a very appreciative look, though his thoughts did not stray too far from what Wood had said. Would he wake up one morning to find the loft with one missing person? He found that rather horrible, to just get up and leave. He glared at Wood, who hadn't seemed to have gotten the hint to shut up already.

"Harry has a problem. If there's any commitment involved, he's out of there."

"Oliver, you know that's not true."

Wood smirked. "Oh yeah, what about Cedr-"

Harry stood up. "More drinks, do you think?"

He set off towards the staircase, and Draco followed him. He ignored Pansy's objection and relied on instinct, moving down the stairs quickly to catch up with him. He moved through the crowd, trying to push his way to Harry, though the only thing he saw of the man was his wild ebony hair. Draco lost sight of the artist after a few moments of looking, until he came face to face with Harry, who's beryl eyes were gazing at him somewhat fondly.

Meanwhile, back at the table, Blaise had taken Harry's empty seat and lit another cigarette, and Pansy-though somewhat reluctantly-sat next to him. Wood's sharp eyes were staring intently at Blaise, who blew smoke across the table at him.

"So, how do you know the ever elusive Harry Potter?" Wood asked, leaning forward. Blaise smiled, though it seemed somewhat forced.

"He's Draco's roommate, Draco's my best friend, hence the knowing."

Wood suddenly looked very intrigued."He's Mr. Malfoy's roommate, is he?"

"Yeah, that is what I said."

"And, does Mr. Malfoy know anything about Harry?"

Blaise tapped his cigarette and shrugged. "Does anyone?"

"Touche," Wood acquiesced. "Harry is an interesting person," Wood sat back, sighing. Blaise watched him turn from rather condescending to sincere. "You better hope that Malfoy doesn't get too attached."

"He's engaged!" Pansy snapped. Wood looked at her, albeit a bit pityingly. "Is he now? Well then I suppose you have nothing to worry about."

Sarcasm, Blaise suspected, was something Harry's friends threw around like baseballs.

"Draco and I are in love, as you've probably seen from the papers," she said, tilting her head up to preserve the last of her dignity.

"And love conquers all I'm guessing." Wood snorted. "You hear that Percy? They're in love."

Blaise cleared his throat. "And how do you know Harry?" he asked Percy. The redhead motioned a negative.

"Just met him. Seems like a nice guy." He gave Wood a glare, and Blaise decided he liked the freckle faced fellow.

"Oh he is," Wood went on, and Blaise nearly groaned. "He's one of the sweetest guys I've ever met. Been in love with him ever since Amsterdam."

Somewhat taken back by this admission, Blaise raised his eyebrows at the man. Wood smiled at him, his carefully sculpted face all-knowing, and positively infuriating. Pansy put down her drink rather forcefully, nearly spilling it, and snapped.

"Well then obviously this Harry is loose. Completely unsuitable for my Draco."

Emphasis on my, Blaise thought, and he watched Wood's eyes glitter with laughter. Blaise glanced at the Percy fellow, and noticed that he looked rather sad, he glanced away and turned to search out Harry and Draco in the crowd. They were hard to spot.

"So," said Draco, as they leaned against the bar. "That Wood's a jerk."

Harry smiled at him. "He's drunk. Gets like that sometimes. I wouldn't take anything he says personally."

The blond bit his lip and waited as their drinks were made. "Pansy sure likes you," he suddenly said, dripping sarcasm. Harry blinked at him.

"She didn't did she?" he asked, paying for the glasses.

He stared off into the crowd. "Well, Pansy doesn't like anyone."

"She likes you though, when's the wedding?"

"How did you...?" Draco tried to figure out when Harry might have heard, possibly in a paper? No, Harry didn't seem like the kind of person to fall for celebrity trash. He suspected it must have slipped out somehow though. "It was supposed to be in June...we might move it up though."

"Why?" Harry frowned.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't know, something about sweat stains and scorching hot weather at the Gardens."

"You know they have pads for that."

Draco smiled.

"Fight! Hey, there's a fight!"

They both turned and looked up at the balcony. The drinks were immediately forgotten, as Harry said, "oh no."

"Draco is faithful to me, watch your mouth." Pansy snapped.

"And I'm sure, Wood, that if he wasn't, it wouldn't be any of your business anyway," Blaise said threateningly.

"Well doesn't everyone know about Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson? You two are the infamous pair, both too stupid to realize your each after each other's money."

Blaise stood up. "Assuming really doesn't fucking suit you."

"No, but Harry does, and if that asshole Malfoy fucks him..."

"He's engaged!" Pansy suddenly yelled, looking haggard.

"To a bitch like you? Not for long."

"Hey, Wood, shut the fuck up!"

But Blaise didn't have to throw the first punch, rather Pansy decided stinging alcohol would go great with Wood's blazer. Wood immediately stood up, making his way towards Pansy, but was waylaid by Blaise, who finally got to work his fists of fury. The man hit the floor rather hard, and his companion stood up as well. Percy shoved Blaise away from Wood, who got to his feet and lunged for them.

"Fight! Hey, there's a fight!"

He didn't know what happened really, though soon he was being pulled away from Oliver Wood by Draco, who had him about the chest and was tugging rather hard. Pansy was yelling something over the music and the cursing, and Blaise opened one hurting eye to see Harry pulling Wood away from the scuffle.

"Go home, Oliver." Harry said, his glare intensifying when the man tried to explain.

"Just go. Get sober, and I'll come over later, alright?"

Percy pulled Wood away, and they walked across the balcony and down the stairs. Blaise touched his eye carefully and flinched.

"You just had to get into a fight, didn't you," Draco cursed, grabbing their stuff. Pansy scowled at them both, before turning her nose up and walking away.

"That guy's a fucker," said Blaise, carefully touching his eye.

"He's drunk," Harry said, picking up his jacket and his back pack. "He was just drunk, Blaise."

The brunette didn't seem mad, though, and they all walked out together. The bartender gave them a look, and nodded at them to a security guard, who made his way toward them. Harry put his hands up in defense, muttered a "uh oh" and practically sprinted out the door. Blaise and Draco followed quickly.

The cool night air hit Blaise's stinging eye and he groaned. Draco shook his head at him, and turned to look at Harry, who seemed oddly quiet. His face was soft in the lights of the Pearl, and Draco felt his chest tighten at the disappointment in his eyes.

"Sorry Harry," Blaise apologized, blowing smoke out through his nose.

"What did he say, anyway?" Draco asked, and Blaise shook his head.

"Just some stuff about you and Pansy."

Harry laughed bitterly. "Oliver's just jealous, he'll get over it."

Blaise gave Draco a surprised glance, and looked at Harry, opening his mouth once before coughing.

"So you know, then."

Harry smiled, nodding. "He's always been like that."

"Oh." Blaise frowned. They all stood in silence on the curb, and Draco looked around for Pansy.

"And you don't...um...well..."

The artist tilted his head at him, pulling on his jacket. "Oliver just doesn't have what Draco has, really."

Confused, Blaise made a face at Draco, made to say something, but stopped again.

"He's always wanted a nice girl to settle down with, Draco has that, and Oliver can't stand it."

Blaise's eyebrows completely disappeared and he mouthed to Draco, 'what?'. The blond looked just as clueless as him, and shrugged. Raising his hands in defeat, Blaise lit another cigarette and shook his head, muttering.

"Pansy went off in her dad's limo. We'll have to take your car, Blaise."

He nodded, waving for them to follow as they walked over to his car. "Harry, we'll give you a lift, I'm guessing Wood was your ride home."

"Yeah he was, thanks."

Draco was relieved, who knows where Harry would have ended up if that guy had driven him home. Especially since they'd been drinking, though the alcohol didn't seem to affect Harry at all. Draco took the keys from Blaise, who protested, but acknowledged that he was rather smashed. They all climbed into the car, and the radio turned on and got Blaise dancing again. He sang in a high pitched, annoyingly false voice, and Draco squeezed the steering wheel tightly.

"Blaise, shut up. Where on earth is your side mirror?"

Blaise leaned over and looked out the window. He scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion, before exclaiming, "Holy fuck!"

"Someone stole your mirror?" Harry asked.

"This is a night of holy fucking hell," Blaise said, leaning his head back. He snapped up again and glared. "I bet you it was Wood!"

"Blaise...what would he want a mirror for?"

"He probably has some weird fucking fetish or something, huh, Harry?"

They all looked at the side of the car, and Draco started the engine, shaking his head. "If we get pulled over by the authorities..." and he let the sentence hang.

"We won't," Blaise said, and he reached behind his seat to swat at Harry, who rolled down the window and tapped on Blaise's door.

They pulled out of the garage, and turned up the music, the cold night air wisping quietly through the car. Draco watched for cars as he made to pull out, but suddenly slammed on the breaks, hard. Blaise went vaulting forward, placing his hands on the dashboard and scowling. Harry rubbed where the seat belt had jolted him.

"What the fuck?" yelled Blaise.

Draco frowned, before turning to look at his best friend.

"Where's McLaggen?"

Hermione wasn't at all thrilled with Blaise when he confessed to losing McLaggen. It hadn't really been that hard to get it out of him, seeing as the three spent pretty much the entire night looking for the guy. He ended up in the bathroom the entire time anyway, so Blaise wasn't blamed, at least, for hurting him. Thankfully enough, she decided there would be no more outings for McLaggen, and especially not with Blaise. He was just glad she hadn't heard about the fight.

Draco and Harry got back to the loft ridiculously late, and made quite a lot of noise trying not to make noise. Which was really all they could do having been so wired from a night at the club. So far, all had gone well between the two, and Draco was rather proud of himself. He watched Harry as he turned the key to the apartment, and his eyes strayed to the backpack on his shoulder. He sneered at it, catching himself before he said something rude about Harry's choice in luggage. It really was an ugly looking bag, held together by tape and practically showered in paint. All of Harry's possession though, were showered in paint.

He watched Harry set down his bag and flop onto his mattress, delicately blowing his hair out of his eyes. Draco was suddenly breathless at the other man's languid, uncaring pose, and tried unsuccessfully to remember to inhale. He turned away and cursed, throwing his blazer on the sofa and shaking his head. He would be damned if he was attracted to someone who wasn't attracted to him. Even if Harry did want him, he reckoned, he was an engaged man. He had Pansy for god's sakes! He smiled grimly, yes, Pansy.

Harry was saying something to him, and he turned.

"What was that?"

The brunette sat up on his elbows and bit his cheek. "Oliver will be at the opening."

"Why?" he asked, sudden venom in his voice.

"Because I invited him," Harry said smartly.

"Well un-invite him," Draco sat down and scowled, looking at the clock and groaning. He would still, regardless of Blaise losing the village idiot, have to got to work, and the prospect of dealing with his father after a night of hell...

"That's just rude." Harry frowned for a moment. "But then, you're always rude anyway, maybe I should take a leaf out of your book."

Draco bit his tongue. "Maybe you should. You could start with picking up your crap."

He hadn't wanted to say anything, but the thought had come across his mind when he'd nearly tripped over a pallet Harry had left by the couch. He was dead tired of things being left all about the loft, and while he'd always had someone to clean up after him, he was not under any circumstances going to let the place he lived in become a pig sty. Harry had seemingly set out to be infuriatingly contrary to Draco's neurotic tendencies.

"My crap? This is my art work," Harry said, offended.

"I said crap, didn't I. Don't argue semantics with me," he snapped.

"I doubt you could spell semantics let alone argue with them."

"Oh and what about you?" he was suddenly very angry. "Who's the stupid one with the stupid friends?"

"How old are we?" Harry asked. "And Oliver isn't stupid."

"He didn't know when to stop," Draco suddenly sat up."Speaking of which, was Wood right then?"

Harry got up, having had enough, and walked to the refrigerator. He pulled open the drawers, not finding anything really eatable, and scowled.

"Was he right?" Draco repeated. "Are you afraid of commitment?"

The brunette slammed the door, turning on his heel to glare at Draco, who tried to hold back a laugh.

"That's none of your business."

He smothered his humor and raised both hands in defense. "So sorry, Mr. Potter. I won't bring it up again."

Harry turned back to the refrigerator and opened it again. He ignored Draco, who said something about, 'no matter how many times you look there will still be the same stuff,' and finally closed it in defeat.

"It's late," Draco groaned, and he put a hand over his eyes.

The artist shrugged, walking over to the couch and dodging Draco's feet. He hadn't seen the pallet however, and tripped, falling to the floor with a loud thud. Draco started at the weight on his shoes, before he shook his head at his fallen roommate. Harry looked up at him morosely and laid his head down on the floor.

"I told you your crap was everywhere," Draco admonished.

Harry coughed. "You're going to the show, yeah?"

"If you want me to go."

He smiled when Harry smacked his leg. "I like having people there that I know."

"I thought you knew everyone, Harry. What happened to, 'My Harry's very popular...'"

Harry delivered another punch, and Draco scowled."Ow, okay, fine."

"I don't know," said the artist. "I don't really know them. Not like I know you and Blaise now."

"Better than Wood?" he raised an eyebrow.

"I've stayed here longer than in Amsterdam."

"Have you? How many places have you been exactly?"

"Loads," Harry yawned. "I don't like staying in one place for too long."

Draco felt a jolt in his chest, and he looked away. He didn't want to know what his own reaction would be if Harry up and left. He doubted Harry had the guts to leave, and Draco snorted, he doubted if the brunette was as much as a traveler as he had said. Draco had never been able to just leave, not look back, and he doubted someone like Harry would either.

After a few minutes of Harry silent and unmoving, Draco sighed, giving up his thoughts."Are you going to sleep there?"

A muffled 'mmhm' was his answer, and tried to shake the brunette off. "Come on, I've got to get some sleep as well."

Harry relented, and got up from the floor, using Draco's knee as leverage. The blonde was immediately uncomfortable, and when Harry stood rubbing his eyes in front of him, he had a sudden vision of the two of them daringly close. He shook his head, and watched the artist as he climbed into his mattress and picked up a book.

Draco told himself he hadn't just thought of himself with Harry in that way. No, he hadn't thought that at all. His mind was playing tricks on him. He played back the night in his head, wincing a bit at some of the things he'd said right there in the end. He presumed that maybe being horrible to Harry was best, after all, it was Pansy he was marrying...not Harry Potter. Thank god, he said in his mind. The man had to be the oddest person he'd ever met.

On a Monday in slightly chilly November, Remus Lupin walked down from the loft, where he'd been briefly conversing with Harry. The loft was decorated as always, though slightly more 'lived in' than before. Harry's things were flung carelessly onto the floor, his papers and paints strewn about the room. Canvases leant against the walls, and where the artist's mattress usually sat, were now stacks upon stacks of finished works. Remus had gazed around the apartment in amusement, noticing how neat and precise Draco's things were placed on the counter tops and in his room.

Remus wondered if Harry ever got any sleep, and if some sort of being possessed the young man when he painted. The brunette seemed to be driven by something, to splash streaks of color onto canvas, and bare his soul in solid form. In a less dramatic sense, the artist had suddenly found what Harry liked to call, 'the flow'. According to a one Mr. Potter, 'the flow' happened spontaneously, without any warning whatsoever, and in long extended bursts. Remus asked him if it was a sort of epiphany, and Harry said no. Definitely more complex than that, he'd said, and then he'd completely drifted off into another world.

He walked down the stairs, Harry soon following after him with his backpack over his shoulder and his coat on.

"Everything alright Remus?" Harry asked, and Remus nodded.

"Fine. I've got an appointment in about a half an hour. Where are you off to?"

The brunette grinned at him."I'll be back later. Tell Dennis I said hi, okay?"

Remus, distracted by the suddenly dying leaves on his Ficus, nodded to Harry as he left. "Will do."

He usually took his Monday afternoons off about every few weeks, though Mrs. Sprout had come down with a small cold, and wouldn't be able to finish her appointments for the day. Remus had stepped in, being valiant and helpful, and said he would do his best to help with the couple that had scheduled for midday. He recalled when the date had been made, and thought fondly of Molly and Arthur, who's daughter would be arriving...Remus checked his watch...about now.

The bell over the Fleur-de-lis, chimed softly in the bright sun. A man and a woman stood on his steps, and he smiled at the girl, whom he had met a fair few times when Molly and Arthur had walked through the shop with her teenager in tow. Ginny Weasley was a stunningly beautiful, vivacious girl of eighteen, just recently graduated from High School, and a newly accepted student at Berkeley. Her long, brilliantly red hair, flowed down her back, and two bright eyes gazed at him fondly from where she stood. She smiled, her freckles moving about on her face, as she looped an arm around her fiancé.

Remus looked the man over, who seemed rather nervous, though in no way socially unpleasant. He had curly brown hair, a round and homely face, and a very cleanly disposition. He was dressed in finely pressed slacks, a white shirt and tie, while Ginny went for more of a casual approach; in a plaid skirt and gray vest. He walked over to them, and smiled.

"Ginny!" he said, and she gave him a hug.

"Mr. Lupin, it's been a while. I'm so happy mother was able to get us an appointment. We so wanted de-lis to do our arrangements."

"I'm flattered. So this is the fiancé?" Remus asked, his eyes flashing to the man. Ginny looked at her soon- to-be husband fondly, and let go of his arm so they could shake hands.

"Neville Longbottom." The man, Neville, said. "Remus Lupin? You know, you're quite a well known scholar at Berkeley."

Neville slurred the words as if he were scared to even think about what he'd said. My, Remus thought, is he nervous. Remus smiled though, tilting his head a little to let his welcome greet Ginny, and led them over to the counter.

"Am I really? I know a few colleagues there. I hear you're a Doctor! Quite the accomplishment!"

Neville blushed. "I'm very interested in herbs and vegetational properties as well...in fact, I was hoping..."

Ginny smiled at him, asking for a moment, and he nodded, cutting his chatter off. "Remus, is Mrs. Sprout here?" she said.

"Ah yes, well." He ran a hand through his hair, tussling it a bit, and immediately thought of Harry. "She's down with a cold..."

"How horrible..." said Ginny.

"...But I'd be happy to take down your orders and such."

"Remus you're a godsend!" claimed the redhead."The weddings coming up so soon we have the house going spare. The arrangements needed to be laid to rest by Wednesday. I'm so happy we didn't need to reschedule!"

"Yes, I am that wonderful," he smiled. "Shall we?" and he waved his arm.

He moved the couple into the back, and they went over the different combinations that Mrs. Sprout could do. Ginny asked plenty of questions, and together they sorted out what brides maid's dress would match with what. They confessed to being uneasy about such a large wedding, though Ginny claimed that with such a large family it was unavoidable.

By the time he was leading them back into the front of the shop, Remus was very impressed with the knowledge Neville Longbottom had of the different plants he'd had in the makeshift greenhouse. They talked for a bit about what Neville specialized in, physical therapy, and Remus was interested to hear that his colleagues at Berkeley had taken a rather different approach to medicine, through the old use of ingredients and sometimes even mythical folk cures. The man was certainly intriguing to talk to, and Remus was looking forward to when the couple would come back to pick up their flowers. He wanted them to meet Harry.

Dennis came in minutes later, and broke up the conversation. They milled about a bit, before Ginny and Neville decided it was best they get on with the rest of the errands. Remus waved them goodbye, feeling nice from the very pleasant encounter. Dennis demanded pizza, and Remus went to order them lunch. The teenager had been skipping lunch at school to eat at the flower shop, and though Remus didn't mind, he always made sure Dennis was back at school in time for his next class.

He, Harry, Mrs. Sprout, and Dennis would usually eat together. It looked as if it was just the two of them that day, and they sat down to talk a little. Dennis asked where Harry was, and Remus told him he'd gone out, and that he'd said hello. The young man looked slightly more cheerful after that. Remus fell into a stupor of thought, munching on his pizza as he watched customers come in and out in greeting. His pondering strayed to Harry, once again, and he munched thoughtfully.

According to Blaise, who had visited him a few days ago after the club debacle, Harry had met with his art dealer at Pearl. The man had then given a full account of what had happened between Harry's friend and himself, and by the end of it, Remus was considerably more informed than before. He only worried just as he knew Mr. Malfoy had worried, that one day Harry would simply disappear, no note, no message, just..nothing. He pushed away his thoughts with barely contained anger, he should have more faith in Harry, he told himself, and the speculation quickly passed from his mind.

Little did Remus know, and he'd kick himself later for his stupidity, was that Harry would do his first disappearing act that very afternoon. Little did he know that when Harry said he'd be back later, it meant a quite a long time later. And Remus was sure, undoubtedly, that he had never been so scared in his life.


	12. Familiar Faces

Sharp rays of purple dashed the door of Fleur-de-lis, as Remus closed up for the afternoon. His eyes watched the colors dance about in the evening sun, and he let out a strangled sigh. The open glass let in a chilly breeze, rustling the plants about in their pots. He carefully walked across the shop, his feet somewhat unsteady, and his face wrinkled in concentration. Worries and bits of irregular thoughts raced through his mind, and he looked forward to a replenishing sleep to lay his mind to rest.

Anxiety had been a close friend over the past week, and he now courted it with impending disaster. He knew he was working himself too hard, and that with all the somewhat unreasonable niggles in his mind, he was sure to crash and burn if it continued. The tension in the air had only increased with the day's monotony, morning and night, dawn and dusk, ever unchanging in each terribly exasperating day.

He went into his room and kicked off his shoes, carefully removing his watch and placing it onto his night-stand. With another heavy sigh, he fell onto his bed, feeling considerably better against the soft, cool comforter. He put a hand on his forehead, looking up through the shade at a white ceiling. The fan above him moved around and around, seemingly mocking his stillness . . . his need for placidity.

Remus turned onto his side and closed his eyes, thoughts and feelings dancing in front of him. Foremost in his mind, and in his concerns, was the date he had scheduled for the following night. He hadn't been out with a potential partner in quite a while, and his nerves shook at the endless possibilities of embarrassment. He couldn't possibly fathom why Severus Snape had called him and asked him to dinner, and in his twisted and quietly suffering mind, Remus was sure it was a joke.

"Uh, well, sure, I suppose." Remus had stuttered. "Where?"

"Sarabande?" said the silky and rather calm voice.

"Sure, all right," he agreed, and could almost feel the man nod on the other end of the phone line.

"I will pick you up, thank you, Remus."

He had tried to ignore the sound of his own name when Severus had said it, but failed miserably, and hung up the phone. Therefore, he had taken to brooding about the date for the past two days, wondering what he would do when the attractive botanist realized how unappealing he himself was. He tried very hard not to mope, but found himself sulking anyway, which only served as a downer for the remaining inhabitants of the shop. Dennis had gone home rather disconcerted because of Remus' behavior, and the man bit his lip remorsefully at the thought.

Remus wasn't as hard on himself as others, per say, since the recent disappearance of his employee. That was perhaps his most circulated and perplexing thought of all. Harry had been gone for almost two weeks, seemingly vanished into thin air. It was so close to December now that Remus wondered only briefly if the artist was going to make it to his own opening. He did not, however, let his imagination run loose as much as some of his other friends. Blaise was convinced that Harry had been abducted. Something about communists . . . .?

The botanist didn't know, and did particularly wonder, though not to the point of unreasonable assumption. He was scared for Harry, naturally, and as the days turned to weeks, he grew more hesitant to deny his worry for the boy. Truly? He was sure Harry had simply gone away for a while. Had it been any other person working for him, Remus would have booted the worker out of the shop and out of his home. But this was Harry. This was his project. Though, he admitted, how was he supposed to save someone that wasn't even there?

Remus drifted into a light doze, still thinking rapidly about the brunette. Peradventure, the most indifferent person to Harry's leaving had been Mr. Malfoy. He hadn't seemed to particularly care otherwise, and often ranted about loving the space to himself and not having to trip over paint pallets and canvas at night. No one was fooled. The blond was just as anxious as the rest of them, and it showed in his eyes when anyone cared to look.

Harry's disappearance worried Remus, though he was not nearly as worried enough to alert the authorities. He figured that Harry and the police did not go hand in hand, though he was assuming, and assuming Harry was all right could very well mean he was beat up and in a ditch somewhere. All and all, the extreme tension and underlaying panic were there, and it was scaring the hell out of the inhabitants of the loft.

Before he knew it, Remus had fallen into a deep and comforting sleep, with his work clothes still on and his hair tied back delicately. He paid for his laziness the next morning, when he woke with a painfully numb arm, and his stomach rumbling loudly. Going through his normal routine, he showered and shaved, eventually sitting down behind his counter with a bowl of wheats, and a hand placed over his eyes so he could read the paper. He heard the door jingle without looking up, and listened to Mrs. Sprout's footsteps as she charged inside.

"It's quite a lovely day, Remus!" she exclaimed, and he looked up, chewing. "It's hard to believe Christmas is just around the corner."

"It's barely December yet Mrs. Sprout." Remus corrected her, smiling.

She gave a wiggle and a scorn, a bit like a ruffled pigeon and scowled at him. "Ooh, mock my fun. The radio programers seem to think it's this Sunday. The carols have already started."

He groaned. "They'd play Christmas music in July if the government would let them."

Mrs. Sprout set down her bag and took her gloves off, her flowery hat sliding down her face nervously. She pushed it up and grinned. "So, tonight is the night, eh?"

"Please don't tell Dennis or Sybil, if anyone knows I'm having a date they'll be here to take pictures," he pleaded, hoping a blush wasn't on his cheeks.

"Yes well, you should tell that Sirius Black at least, he is rather fond of you."

"Why Mrs. Sprout," Remus gathered himself, grinning. He put down his cereal and held back a very amused laugh. "I can't believe there is something you don't know."

She took her sliding hat off forcefully, and looked at him with an intense, offended glare. "What? What?"

"Well you see, Sirius and I used to live together. We were partners for a very long time, until we separated in mutual recognition of our differences. All idiocy really, we're still the best of friends, but not now, and certainly not ever, will we get together again."

Stopping short just to look at him, Mrs. Sprout shook her head and looked off."Well I'll be. I suppose there are some things I don't know."

He smiled at her indulgently and turned the page in his paper. She wasn't finished however, and went over to stand by him.

"Where are you planning to go to dinner?" she asked, her curiosity bouncing back.

"A nice place," he stated.

"A nice place."

"Yeah."

"Where?"

Seeing no other way to escape it, he said, "Sarabande."

"Oh Remus!" she said excitedly, as was expected. "I hear it's a wonderful place! Very expensive, though. Have you ever been to a restaurant like it?"

"Not really. It's in Manhattan."

"Not too far then," she speculated, gazing away. "He must be serious if your first dinner is somewhere so . . . romantically inclined."

"I guess." He looked down at his soggy wheats and pushed the bowl away, the butterflies that had been in his stomach earlier coming back happily, and with a vengeance.

"He'll adore you, Remus, I don't know why you would think otherwise."

He shrugged one shoulder, still looking down.

Mrs. Sprout sighed. "Well? What are you going to wear?"

Remus frowned at her, and then pointedly stared at the clothes he was wearing, smirking. She gasped dramatically. "Oh no you don't! You must have clothes that are somewhat presentable!"

She rushed off and into his room, something she did often without much care, and shuffled through his wardrobe. The bell over the shop door went off again, and he turned to face the first customers of the day. He was pleasantly surprised when Neville Longbottom and Molly Weasley walked in, and smiled when he was enveloped into a tight hug from the motherly looking woman. He hadn't seen either of them in weeks, and figured the wedding plans must have been in full action mode . . . considering Molly Weasley's long list of things to do.

Neville looked rather happy to be back at the shop, and they immediately engaged in small talk of plants and flowers. Mrs. Sprout came out, much to Remus' chagrin, and told Molly and Neville both about Remus' date. He therefore had two gushing women giving him helpful hints and also considerably non helpful hints, all morning. The subject, thankfully, changed when Molly asked about Harry...and quite suddenly, the tension was back.

"What do you mean, he left?" Molly asked, shocked.

"Well all of his stuff is here, we just don't know where he went," he said, shrugging.

"But what if he's dead in some ditch somewhere! He could have been mugged or abducted or...anything!"

"Who are we talking about, sorry?" asked Neville rather nervously. Remus frowned at Mrs. Weasley's worried face, and then turned to him smiling.

"Harry. He works here. Oh, you haven't met him have you?" he said, suddenly remembering.

Neville shook his head, but knitted his eyebrows together. "What did you say his last name was?"

"I can't believe he just left!" Molly said, "He works here, doesn't he Remus?"

Remus looked at Neville apologetically and turned away. "Yes, he does. I think I just want to know why he left, really."

"Well, is he lazy?" she asked.

"Harry?" he shook his head. "No, not at all. He works endlessly, hardly ever sleeps, and is a great help around here. My back has been protesting his leaving for weeks."

Mrs. Sprout shook her head."I don't understand why he would just..." she flung up both of her hands in frustration.

"Potter." Remus suddenly said, turning back to Neville, "his last name is Potter."

Neville, who had been listening to their conversation rather calmly, suddenly brightened. "Artist Harry Potter? Black hair, green eyes...very attractive?"

"That's that one," he nodded in confusion.

"I wouldn't worry about Harry, he does this all the time."

"You know him?" said Mrs. Sprout, her eyebrows disappearing into her hair. Neville beamed, looking off fondly as if remembering something considerably hilarious.

"Oh yes, he used to room with a friend of mine in college. My friend was a Senior, and he and Harry shared an apartment. I think they were rather close. Anyway, Harry was...interesting." The gaze of fondness was back. "I'm very sure Ernie was in love with him, but Harry...well, Harry's clueless."

"I can't believe you know him!" Mrs. Sprout said, shaking her head.

Neville grinned. "lots of people know him, he's very famous in California. Rather, he attended all of the openings and the parties that Ernie dragged him to. Most of the time he stayed out of the media, but sometimes it would catch up with him. That's when he would leave."

They each were listening, completely enraptured as Neville seemed to speak straight from memory, as if telling a very interesting story. Remus blinked.

"But he came back."

"Oh yes, give or take a few weeks, and he would be suddenly lounging on your sofa reading a book."

Molly straightened up and frowned. "What a complicated person."

"Not really, Harry's one of the nicest people I've ever met. Smart, real smart. I think he graduated from school early, because someone told me he went to their UC but left after a year with full honors."

"Is that even possible?" Remus asked. "Well, he is Harry..."

The brown haired young man nodded. "There you go. That's the mind-set you must have when your friends with the infamous Harry Potter. He's Harry, and whatever he does, he does because he is the way he is. If you don't, you'll either end up extremely offended, or," and Neville laughed. " Madly in love."

Remus had never heard Neville say much, though it seemed talk of Harry had brought out the best in the young man. He was no longer timid, and spoke with a tenderness that Remus was sure he would be emitting even if Harry didn't come back.

"He has an art opening here on the fifteenth."

"Really? Where?"

"The projects. He has the back."

Neville smiled. "And why wouldn't he? He's amazing. Have you seen his stuff?"

"Briefly, it's all up there, packed away," he said, pointing to the loft.

"Let's go have a look!" Mrs. Sprout suggested, giddy.

"No, I don't think Harry would like that," Neville said, and then his shy personality was back. "He's a very private person."

Remus flashed him a look of thanks.

"I still can't believe you know him." Molly suddenly smacked Neville on the arm. "Why didn't you tell me!"

The botanist watched affectionately as they talked, thinking of Harry and how much of a relief it was that Neville had reassured them. He would be back, though, what exactly was it that Harry was running from? He sighed, steeling himself for a day of repeated exclamations from Mrs. Sprout, and racing, raving thoughts.

Sooner than he would have liked, the day turned to night, and he was gazing at his wardrobe with growing disgust. He grabbed his hair in frustration and looked about, suddenly plopping down on his bed and letting out a gust of air. He looked at his watch, and grimaced. He had an hour to get ready, and he didn't have a clue what to do.

He got into the shower and fancied himself up a bit, aware of the plain clothes he'd chosen. Remus looked into the mirror, shaking his head at his reflection. He was wearing simple black slacks, a white dress shirt and a brown jacket. His hair was tied back smoothly, and he was clean and not overly perfumed. He looked down at his feet, and then over to his shoes. Dress shoes? Converse? Dress shoes...he went with Chuck Taylor. Severus Snape would think he was a hippie, he noted dryly, but didn't particularly care anymore, seeing as it was two minutes time until...the bell over the shop tolled.

Instead of the immediate disapproval Remus was expecting, Severus gave him the once over with a raised eyebrow, and a look that screamed desire. Remus hadn't been looked at like that, in a very long time, and a blush graced his face. Severus stepped forward, in black pants and a turtle neck, his hair tied back much the same, and his hands gloved.

"The limo is waiting for us," he said serenely. "You look nice."

Remus wanted to laugh at the sudden nervousness in the man's voice. He abruptly felt much more confident, and he gave Severus the smile he used to give Sirius; a smirk completely suggestive, and dead sexy. He noticed the glittering in the botanist's eyes, and new he'd been successful. Severus removed his gloves, a small act of courtesy that did not go unnoticed, and opened the door for him.

"Thank you. Did you say a limo?"

Sure enough, stretched beside the side walk was a long black limousine, complete with a driver and his shiny hat. A bit overwhelmed, but very much so impressed, Remus let Severus lead him to the car with a hand on his lower back. Little mannerisms were always something Remus admired, and hope enveloped him suddenly. Could this be the person he had been waiting for?

"It's flashy, but as a gift from Mr. Malfoy who am I to refuse?" Severus said, opening the door so Remus could get inside. The sarcasm practically dripped from the man's voice and stature, and the amber eyed man found himself smiling.

"It's very impressive," he said, repeating his earlier thoughts.

Severus swallowed, looking away for a moment, before turning back with a smirk. Remus looked him over, and then got into the car. He was grinning madly by then, and didn't see Severus catching his breath nervously before getting into the limo.

The ride into Manhattan was rather nice, and they talked about their mutual interests with a very exaggerated amount of attention. Severus was sitting close to him, though Remus was sure it was only because they were in an elongated car. Surely that meant squishing together was inescapable? After only a few awkward silences, one nasty pothole that pushed Remus into Severus' lap, and six blushes later, they finally arrived at Sarabande.

It was a small, but nice establishment. Red brick and scarlet lighting made the place seem homey and romantic, with its long tables and rich colors. People sat with familiarity and ease, talking over their large (and Remus speculated, expensive) dinners. The mood was pleasant, and Remus found himself smiling as they were seated.

The waiter came over to them and introduced the wines, and they both asked for red, and ordered from the list of preferred Italian meats. Remus ordered the veal and suddenly thought of Harry. He laughed.

"What?" asked Severus, smirking.

Remus looked away for a moment, smiling. "I was just thinking of one of my employees. He's vegan, and he'd kill me if he realized I was eating anything on four legs."

The black eyed man shook his head, "Vegans. I sometimes wonder if they have any ethnic awareness whatsoever." Severus grew intense.

"Do they honestly think the Cherokees or the Apaches, or even the Masai kill calves and antelope out of sheer spite? They insist the world is out to get them and mock the people who take the appropriate actions that may lead to the exact opposite of their narrow-minded, nonconformist ways."

There was an awkward silence, where Severus did a very rare thing and looked abashed, and Remus' burst out laughing.

"I apologize," The botanist mumbled, and Remus shook his head.

"Oh please, don't. That was a very...ahem, insightful look into Vegans. Though I'm afraid Harry's kind of different."

Severus made a noise in the back of his throat and sipped his wine.

"I've no idea why he's so averse to eating meat. He's an artist though, and I think it comes with the territory."

"Wait, Draco's roommate, Harry?"

"That's him."

"Draco talks of nothing else. Though it's more venomous than anything."

They both shared a look. Right, venomous. Their food arrived, and Remus looked down at his rather full plate, and smiled. He found he was enjoying the night immensely, though a restaurant like Sarabande wasn't usually to his liking. He found himself only floundering a couple of times, once with whether red wine went with white or red meat (as obvious as it was), and then again with the spoon and fork ordeal when it came to pasta. Otherwise, Severus recognized his faults with a dark humor that amused them both, and the evening turned out splendidly.

Talking over their meal companionably, they sidestepped dessert and went straight for the coffee. The night grew late, and when they finally got the check, Remus let Severus pay, knowing that fighting over the bill on the first date was a huge no no. Severus put his hand on Remus' back again as he lead him out to the limo, again. The ride back was nearly as eventful as the ride there.

When they reached the shop, Severus opened the door for him again, and they walked up, laughing. As if sensing his enjoyment, Remus later thought cynically, fate seemed to throw another one at him, as he walked up to the side door. The window was shattered, where someone and put a hand through it and opened the lock. He inhaled, having never been broken into before, and glanced over at the front, where his gate was firmly pressed down.

The door was slightly ajar, and he pushed it open cautiously; his heart pounding. Severus asked him what was wrong, and upon seeing the broken window, moved forward to catch Remus' arm.

"Wait."

They listened for any movement inside the shop, and when nothing was heard, Remus pressed forward. He switched on the light. Glass littered the floor where the window had been broken, and to his undying relief, his shop looked untouched. He walked across the broken shards, the crunching sound loud to his ears, and made it over to the cash register. Popping it open, he frowned in confusion when he saw that all the money was there, and grew even more befuddled when he realized his safe hadn't even been touched.

"Did they take anything?" asked Severus, and he shook his head.

"No. I don't understand..." he suddenly thought of the loft, and bit his lip. "I should go check upstairs."

"I'll call the police."

Remus nodded and walked cautiously upstairs to the loft. When he reached the hallway, his heart beat faster when he noticed the door slightly opened. He pushed forward and walked inside, his eyebrows knitted when he realized that likewise, nothing had been touched. A canvas looked as if it had been thrown aside, and one drawer was open, but otherwise...nothing.

He walked back downstairs silently, and came up beside Severus.

"Yes. No. Nothing," he said into the receiver. "I understand. Thank you."

He hung up, and Remus tilted his head in question.

"There coming down to right up a report," he sighed. "I'm assuming Draco isn't here."

"Hasn't been here much, really." Remus shrugged. "I don't get it."

"Anything upstairs?"

"No, they didn't touch anything. The door was open though..."

Severus suddenly looked very serious. "They were looking for something. Any idea what it was?"

"If I did, don't you think I would have expected this?" Remus snapped, and then sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just...this has never happened to me before."

The other botanist looked pensive, and then put a hesitant, but reassuring hand on Remus' shoulder. Remus appreciated the solemn act of comfort. Severus waited for the police to show up, and the entire mess was trifle to them really. They wrote the mandatory report, and the two men watched as they left and the remains of Remus' window lay scattered across the ground.

"Thank you. For staying with me, and everything."

"It isn't a problem," Severus said offhandedly, and walked with Remus out to the limo. The driver started the car. "Are you sure...well, are you sure you don't need me to stay?"

It wasn't a suggestive comment, more condoling than anything else. Well, as condoling as Severus Snape could be. He shook his head.

"I'll be fine."

"If you're sure."

He nodded again, and then smiled. "I had a really nice time tonight."

Severus cleared his throat. "Then in that case, would you perhaps agree to another likewise dinner?"

Remus bit his lip. "Well I..."

"Did you not like the restaurant?"

"No! It was very nice, um, I'm just not used to fancy dinners and all."

The man nodded knowingly, before smiling.

"Then what kind of date are you used to?"

Remus blushed. "I'm more of a walk in the park, café sort of person..."

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

Caught of guard, he stuttered."Well, nothing really."

"At around noon?"

"Nothing..."

"Then we'll take a walk in the park. I'll see you tomorrow."

And without much time for protest, Severus got into the limousine, giving him one last somehow comforting smirk, and drove away. Remus turned away from the sidewalk, smiling, before his eyes found his broken window, and the mystery of what exactly had happened that night. He walked inside and looked around for a moment, trying to force down the underlaying fear, and strange eeriness that now hung in the shop. The empty place was oddly frightening to him, and he suddenly wished that he had asked Severus to stay.


	13. Hello Again

"I don't care either way, good riddance."

"You know that's a complete lie, Draco."

Draco gave Hermione Granger a look that said otherwise, and took another sip of his drink. Blaise had decided to act a bit more mature around Hermione, and wisely kept silent. Her eyes held a sort of sardonic pity, and Draco turned away, annoyed. He didn't say anything for a while, and their food came, the waiter staying just long enough to wink at Hermione before Blaise's glare scared him off.

With a loud clink, Draco set his utensils onto the table and growled. "How can he just leave like that? It has to be some kind of disorder."

"I don't care either way, good riddance," Blaise mocked with his head in his dish. He looked up and grinned when Draco huffed.

Hermione raised a hand to comfort him. "Didn't that guy, Neville, say he would be back?"

"Ouch! Don't pinch me!"

Draco looked back and forth between the two, before gazing down at his crab pies thoughtfully.

"Well, yeah. And that's another thing, how is it that everyone knows about this Harry Potter, and I don't?"

She shrugged. "I don't know him. Blaise didn't know him."

Blaise was moving his lobster around and talking through its pincers when they turned to look at him, and then promptly turned away. Hermione raised her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head.

"Listen," she said, ignoring her boyfriend. "You'll feel like an idiot when Harry shows up at the loft because you've been worrying so much..."

"I haven't been worrying!" Draco snapped.

"Right, and I'm the Queen of England."

Blaise put an arm around Hermione's shoulder and grinned. "You're my Queen, baby."

She slapped his arm away, but smiled all the same. They turned to the sounds of groaning, to see Draco with his head in his hands and his food untouched.

"You guys are so disgusting. PDA."

"That's not fucking PDA, this is..." Blaise grabbed Hermione into a kiss and she pushed him away, laughing. Draco shook his head, and gagged.

"Lighten up Draco, just because Harry's not here for you to kiss..."

"Shut up Blaise," Hermione suddenly snapped. "He's engaged."

Blaise looked offended for a moment. "You're the one trying to get Draco to admit his f...er, feelings."

Draco raised an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged. Other than one slip up, Blaise had so far cut down the use of the F word by six times since they sat down. Draco thought it was quite the accomplishment for his friend. Hermione still noticed the slur, however, and glared.

Hermione had long brown hair and deep brown eyes. She wore a long rippling skirt and a brown sweater, with sunglasses on her head and boots on her feet. Her scarf was thrown over the side of her chair, along with a large leather purse. She was a very pretty young woman, with a soft sort of face and an intelligent mind. Blaise, somehow, wasn't out of her league, and they looked rather good sitting beside each other affectionately. When Draco had first met Hermione, he'd had a hard time discerning her sweet tempered self, since she spent the entire night yelling at Blaise.

Blaise didn't mind her nagging all that much, if anything he thought it was funny. Hermione wasn't from Manhattan, she'd moved to New York to go to college from her hometown of Virginia. Other than her oppressive, overbearing character, she was generally a nice girl. Though if you added both her companions I.Q. points together, you would get hers.

The only other person Draco had met who was that smart was...

"Harry, Harry, Harry. That's all Draco thinks about, let the man choose," Blaise was saying.

"He's going to have to if he's serious about this guy."

"I told you," Draco defended himself. "I can't stand him."

"I can't stand Hermione...ouch!" Blaise rubbed his shoulder, but plowed on. "I'm still with her."

Hermione turned back to Draco, who was pushing away his dish in disgust.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"Crab," he said vaguely. Hermione frowned and looked down at her own dinner, before Blaise suddenly laughed and pointed.

"Harry doesn't eat crab, he's a vegan."

The blush on Draco's face was the only sign that Blaise had caught him. Hermione put a hand over her mouth, but the curl of her smile was still seen through her fingers. Blaise picked up his lobster and put it up to his mouth.

"I'm a lobster, don't eat me," he moved its skeleton to the sound of his voice, flicking the antenna back and forth. "Please Draco, I'm just a lobster..."

"Can I get anything else for you?" the waiter had come back, and was careful to not look at Blaise, who waved one of the lobster claws at him.

Hermione glanced sideways. "Um, no, thank you. Can we get the check please?"

When the waiter had gone, she snatched at Blaise's arm and brought it down, along with the uneaten fish. She scowled at him, and he grinned.

"Why don't you eat your food? There are starving children in Ethiopia..."

"So pack it up and send it to them. I want a glass of wine."

"No."

Draco watched Blaise pout and Hermione finish her dinner in silence. He hadn't meant to think of Harry when he'd looked down at his fish, but couldn't really help it. He'd dealt with Harry enough to know some of his idiosyncracies, and now they were coming back to haunt him. Hermione's leather purse, the apples in the refrigerator, the large population of bums in the city, flowers...black hair...

It seemed that wherever he went there was something that reminded him of Harry. Something irked him in some way, reminded him of his roommate, because no one had every made him so mad. Draco was angry; angry that Harry thought it was all right to up and leave without any word or warning...the people (in Draco's world) just didn't do that. He thought that Harry must have had some serious delusions if he thought Draco wouldn't be irate when or if the brunette returned. Draco swore he would kill him.

"So how's Severus doing with the flower guy?"

Grateful for the change of subject, Draco smirked. "Last time I talked to him, he hadn't really said anything. Though he seemed happier than usual."

"How can you tell with him?" Blaise shook his head. "I don't get it, he's got the same boring voice every day."

"Severus isn't boring," Hermione admonished. "Just think of all the traveling he's done."

"I don't want to go anywhere where there's not a cheeseburger, thanks."

Draco suddenly had a vision of a large slab of meat, and Harry shaking his head at it sadly. He closed his eyes and cursed.

"Stop messing around Blaise."

Their check eventually came, and the waiter took away their plates. Draco put his napkin on the table and sighed, swirling the white wine around in his glass. Blaise watched his movements for a second, before Hermione reminded him he was the designated driver, and he sighed. Draco took a loving sip and stared at his friend, smirking.

"I haven't met Remus yet," Hermione said, putting down her glass and reaching over for her scarf. "Is he a lot like Severus?"

Draco got back his credit card and signed, before leaving a twenty dollar bill on the table and getting up. They all pushed in their chairs, and Blaise put his jacket on.

"Not really. He's more pleasant...in a recusant, semi-charmed kind of way."

They made it outside of the restaurant and Blaise lit a cigarette. Hermione made a show of blowing the smoke away and coughing. Blaise grinned at her.

"Severus doesn't seem to mind him."

Draco snorted. "Mind him? I think he's in love...in a very unnoticeable way, of course."

The sidewalk was bustling with people, out as the sun set and ready for a night on the streets. Across from them, one woman was shouting at what looked to be her boyfriend as he laughed hysterically. There was the sound of a smashing beer bottle and a couple of honks before they set off down the street companionably. Hermione shivered, and Draco watched as Blaise took off his jacket and put it over her shoulders. He rolled his eyes.

"Thinking about Harry again, Draco?" Blaise said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

"No, more like your disgusting tenderness with each other. It's honestly sickening to someone out of love."

"Engaged..." Hermione reminded him, looking down as they walked. They passed a group of girls in little to no clothing, who immediately giggled at the sight of Draco. One of them smiled at Blaise, and he grinned. Hermione smacked him.

"Yeah well," Draco shrugged, and Blaise rubbed his stomach. "This marriage is...fuck..."

"How come he's aloud to..."

"Shut up, Blaise, go on," she pressed him.

"It's..." he lagged behind them for a moment, before he shook his head. "The right thing to do...what I have to do."

Hermione sighed. "You don't have to do anything."

They walked until they got to Blaise's car, and all got in. Draco buckled his seat belt and put his head against the seat, smelling the musky sent of the car covers, before they drove off down the street. He gazed out at the passing lights, an endless stream of color and sound, and its brightness only seemed to worsen his mood.

Remus smiled as he opened the door to his shop, looking back at Severus to make sure he still had the bag of sandwiches they'd gotten at the park. When they entered, he flicked the lights on, and welcomed the sweet cold air that immediately numbed his face. His flowers were happily closing for the day, and he walked passed them with an affectionate glance. Severus strode behind him, and set down the food on the counter.

"Draco's not here, I guess," Remus speculated, looking around for a couple plates. "He said he was going out with Blaise and his girlfriend tonight."

"You seem to know more about my godson than I do," Severus said mildly, placing a sandwich on Remus' plate.

"Well, he does live here. Lately he's taken to telling me exactly where he's going...all the time."

Severus frowned, and then sneered. "He's making some kind of a point. Did he put emphasis on his words, such as..." he fished around for the right phrase.

"'I'm going out, but I'll be back. Unlike some people'?"

"Precisely."

Remus smiled at Severus' dry humor, and took a bite of his food. They had spent the day walking through the park, eating bad hot dogs, and sitting on the grass talking. At first, the conversation had been about their jobs, and then their interests, and suddenly to more personal information. Remus had laughed fondly when he'd described Sirius, and tried not to notice the jealousy in Severus' eyes. It did however; make his stomach flip, and his cheeks turn crimson.

The park had been nice, a little chilly, but nice all the same. The people around them, some couples and some not, were all out enjoying the day with tweed sweaters and gloved hands. Most were walking some form of a dog, making Remus wish he'd had one at the time-just so he could walk a scruffy mutt with Severus' as well. He imagined Severus enjoyed himself about as much Remus did, though there was no outward sign of happiness or contentment. Remus rather found Severus' lack of emotion endearing...and the strange shyness Severus Snape seemed to have when confronted by anything person was only making Remus even more devoted.

He watched as Severus tore through his sandwich, taking half of it out before eating it with just the bare essentials. He smiled.

"How long have you known Lucius Malfoy?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Since we were children. I'd imagine our relationship was much like Draco's and Zabini's. Both of our father's were employed together."

"Did Lucius always..."

"Yes," Severus finished for him, gratefully. "He's always been ambitious. His son, it seems, has followed in his footsteps."

Remus took another bite. "You don't seem too happy about that."

"Lucius is, and always will be- high-strung. He makes ridiculous decisions, and that proceeds onto Draco. He doesn't understand how much his son admires him."

They shared a companionable silence, before Severus finished his sandwich and suddenly smirked.

"Any plans tonight?"

Remus blushed, looking down at what was left of his dinner and smiled. He was extremely flattered that Severus would want to spend an entire day with him, and more than a little surprised. He stared up at Severus and grinned.

"What did you have in mind?"

Severus smirked, triumphant. "There's a wonderful French Noir festival going on a bit down the street."

"Hmm, that sounds great. Let me just change, Severus, and we'll go."

Remus walked away, unable to see the rare half smile on Severus' face. When Severus was left alone in the shop, he looked around at the potted plants-impressed at their growth. He explored the brackets a little more, identifying their properties in his head. He was therefore considerably distracted when the door swung open, bereft of the usual jingle of the bell, and in walked a young man Severus had never met before.

He was startled out of his inspection very suddenly.

"Hi," and he turned to face the voice.

The young man had wild, unkept black hair, and the brightest green eyes Severus' had ever seen. He wasn't very tall, and not too short, and slung over his shoulder was a rugged and rather dilapidated looking bag. In the young man's hands there was a book, that he soon slapped down on the counter, along with his pack. He smiled at Severus unsurely, and started rummaging around for something.

Perhaps the most striking thing about the young man before him, other than his eyes, was his face...his face that was...decidedly familiar...

"Where's Remus?" the brunette asked. Severus frowned, gazing at him rudely.

"He's making himself presentable. Might I ask who you are?"

He stopped looking in his bag, and turned around. "God, I'm so rude. I'm Harry, it's nice to meet you."

Severus scowled. "The pleasure is all mine. How is it you know Remus?"

Harry grinned. "I live upstairs."

Suddenly, everything made sense. "Ah, you must be the roommate."

"That's me."

"You're living with my godson I presume," Severus walked forward and watched the young man carefully. Harry went back to searching in his bag.

"Malfoy's your godson?" he asked distractedly. "Hmm. Is he here?"

"Whom?"

"Malfoy."

Severus sniffed. "He's out with Zabini, I should think. He should be back here rather soon, he plans on working tomorrow."

Harry brushed his hair out of his face and looked at him as if he'd grown two heads. "On a Sunday? Your godson's insane."

"That remains to be seen. What did you say your last name was, boy?"

Harry turned at being called 'boy', and scowled. They measured each other for a moment, Severus with a critical eye, and Harry on the defensive. Harry suddenly zipped up his bag, leaving a faded and worn black jacket, as well as his book on the counter.

"I didn't," Harry challenged, staring him in the eye.

Severus looked closer at the young man's face, his sharp eyes and full lips...trying to dissect the familiarity that gripped him.

"Have we had the...pleasure...of meeting each other before?" Severus sneered.

Harry seemed rattled, and lifted his chin slightly. "I don't believe we have. If you'll excuse me."

The brunette took off for the staircase, quickly making it up the stairs before the sound of a door opening and closing reached Severus' ears. He put his hands in his pockets, trying to concentrate on his memory and where he had seen the Harry before. He soon dismissed it, when Remus came out of his room, in fresh clothes and a sparkle in his eye. Severus admired the man's beauty for a moment, before giving Remus his arm and leading him out of the shop.

A little later, and through the same entrance, Draco unlocked the door and tumbled into the dark store, cursing. Blaise followed behind him, his hand clasped with Hermione's as they walked forward, laughing. Draco smiled widely, setting down his keys and flicking on the light. Hermione immediately gushed that the shop was adorable, and they dissolved into companionable laughter once more.

"Is anyone here?" Blaise asked, twirling Hermione in his arms.

"I don't think so. Severus said he planned on taking Remus out for the day."

"And night..." Blaise laughed. "Night and day...you are the one..."

Draco smiled as his best friend danced with Hermione, who smiled and let him dip her rather close to the floor. Stepping up to the counter, Draco looked for a light on in Remus' bedroom, but found none. He grinned slightly, thinking of Severus, before his eyes found the items left atop the counter. The sound of his friend's teasing laughter faded in his muffled brain, and reached down to pick up the black sweater. Underneath it sat a book, the same book used to ignore him, and they smelled...smelled of autumn and road dust and paint...

His legs were leading him up the stairs, and he imagined he was running faster then he had ever run before. He vaguely heard the yells from Blaise behind him, and Hermione's scolding tone, before he swung open the door to the loft, and was greeted with a very familiar sight.

Harry was painting a large white canvas blue, his hair in disarray and his headphones blaring. His back pack sat on his mattress, where the blankets were tousled, and around him lay paints and tarp in one chaotic mess. Harry sang along with his music, his eyes closed against the dark navy of his paint...his shirt riding up as he reached to paint the top of the canvas...

The loft looked as if Harry had never left it. Draco even found himself unsure whether the passed two weeks had been a dream or not. Whether Harry had been there the entire time, and Draco had decided to weave drama into his life. It hadn't been a dream though, and now Harry was back. He was back.

Besides overwhelming relief, and an odd sort of affection, Draco Malfoy was suddenly very angry. More angry, he suspected, than he had ever been in his life. It was that fury that drove him to walk forward and rip Harry's headphones off. The brunette turned to him with raised eyebrows.

"Where the hell have you been!" Draco shouted.

Harry frowned, looking him up and down. "Well Hello again to you too."

"Don't 'hello' me. I can't believe you...you make people worry and...ugh...I honestly can't believe you!"

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, confused.

"I'm talking about you disappearing!"

"What?"

Draco let out a frustrated growl, smoothing down his jacket and shirt and breathing in slowly. He turned fierce gray eyes onto Harry, who had a smudge of blue paint on his cheek.

"You've been gone for two weeks, what about Remus? What about your job...you haven't fucking paid any rent, I know that!"

Harry looked offended. "Hey, I have the money..."

"Do you honestly think that matters?" Draco's eyes suddenly sparkled cruelly. "This isn't about the money I know you don't have...I mean, look at you...your clothes are disgusting..."

He couldn't help it. "You look like you hate bathing as much as you hate meat...you probably smell...you're not in the least something pleasant to look at...it's like I'm living with a fucking slob!"

The artist flinched. "I was only gone for..."

"Two weeks!" he yelled. "Two weeks of peace and quiet. I thought you'd left." Draco suddenly marched over to the refrigerator.

"Look! Meat!" he took out a slab of beef and slapped it onto the counter. "Meat, meat, I even have milk in here Potter. Real milk...from a cow!"

"What is your problem!" Harry yelled.

"You. Now that you're back everything's shit again. I don't even know why you left in the first place."

"That's none of your business!"

"What about the rent moron? Don't you have any concept of responsibility? What manners did your parents teach you..."

Harry winced, looking murderous. He opened his mouth to retort, but Draco beat him to it.

"Yeah, I know, they're dead, I'm sorry...slip of the tongue," he said insincerely.

They glared at each other, Harry's eyes a bright and angry green. He suddenly walked over to the counter, grabbed the beef, and strode off with it.

"What are you doing?"

Harry opened the latch in the glass window, and heaved the beef out of the window and into the road.

"What the fuck!"

The brunette didn't stop, and marched over to the refrigerator, grabbing the other pound of animal and the milk carton before chucking them as well. Draco kept up the mantra of 'you're insane' and tried to stop him.

Downstairs, Hermione and Blaise had heard the shouting and figured they'd outstayed their welcome. When they walked out onto the sidewalk, a good chunk of meat flew from the loft window and into the street with a sickening squelch. Hermione looked at it, her face crinkling in disgust.

"Hey look, free meat," Blaise said happily.

Eventually, and abruptly, the yelling stopped upstairs, and the shop was left in the pale moonlight of the evening. Draco had locked himself in his room, and Harry had buried himself into painting...the stain of red still grazing his cheeks from their angry fight. The loft truly seemed as if nothing had changed, as if it hadn't missed another presence for a fortnight. Harry and Draco, like forever and always, were playing their games...and all was suddenly right in the world.

In the dark of the movie theater, sitting close to his date, Severus pondered over the new face he'd met at Remus' shop that day. The sound of munching from popcorn and the rolling of the movie reel brought him back to reality, and he leaned towards Remus, his eyes still on the screen.

"I met that young man today, the one you hired," he whispered.

Thinking of Dennis, Remus turned to him and frowned. Severus leaned in again.

"The one that's rooming with Draco..."

Remus suddenly jumped up from his seat, his eyes wide in disbelief and excitement.

"What!"


	14. The Art Gallery

December decided to greet New York with a fine frost. The wind picked up speed and howled against windows, and along with the change of seasons, came the change of heart. With the gale and silent cold combined, it was now a mandatory decision to wear that big heavy jacket crumpled in the closet. Winter had settled in like a cat beside a fire, and resolutely, the people of east end wrapped themselves in what warmth they could find. The weather found Draco Malfoy cold and unhappy, and besides the promise of a warm, air heated building, Draco continued to scowl.

He rode in the back of the limo Mr. Filch was driving, with a very reluctant Pansy, an excited Blaise, and Severus–who didn't say much of anything. Blaise had been the deciding factor in attending the art show that night, and without his rather forceful persuasion, Draco fancied he'd have accepted one of his other invitations. He was, after all, a very popular young man, and if it hadn't had been his roommate holding the show...Draco doubted he would have gone. He had explained all of his reasoning to Blaise, who had nodded, and then laughed his head off.

Draco didn't mind making an appearance, it would be good for publicity if Harry was really all he was cracked up to be. Pansy had been absolutely disgusted, but eventually decided to go. They rode over speed bumps and Draco looked out the window nonchalantly; his mask of snobbery and indifference already in place. He had firmly decided not to waste anymore time pondering his infernal artist roommate, and valued his composure in the face of their fights.

Ever since Harry had come back, they had fought without reprieve. Draco hadn't been too happy about the meat incident, but when Harry decided that he could paint one of Draco's shoes while he'd been at work...now that had been out of line. Harry had said he couldn't help inspiration; Draco had said he wouldn't be able to help Harry's face if he did it again. Threats of violence, all verbal nonsense really, were common place in the loft, and at least twice, Draco had even considered going to Blaise's apartment just to get away from the artist. He knew it was bad when he even thought about that.

All the while, he couldn't help his own damnable attraction to the brunette, who had yelled at him once, that he was the only person to get him so angry he wanted to kill someone. Of course, Harry was a pacifist, and didn't touch him. They snapped and snarled at each other every chance they got, and though it happened enough for Draco to eventually get used to it...their fights still irked him. Despite his vehement claims of dislike and vexation, he could not deny (or rather he could) his blossoming feelings for Harry Potter, and all that they insinuated. He wanted to get along with Harry, he wanted...well, he didn't know what he wanted. He needed something, and that something Harry had.

Draco turned his gaze to Pansy, who was ignoring Blaise as he teased her. She gave him a look of disgust, looking down at him with all of her snobbishness, and Draco suddenly wondered why he was marrying her. Why was he marrying her? Pansy was the most arrogant, nonsensical bitch, he had ever met...hell, she didn't even like him. He could tell sometimes, when that look of distaste was directed at him, and he could even say it had happened more than once. Draco put a hand over his eyes. What was he doing?

When he looked up again, Severus was watching him carefully. He sighed, giving his godfather a smirk before gazing out of the window once more. Harry was just so different than Pansy, he concluded, he was so much more calm and spirited. Pansy looked as if she could fit into a small cube and be happy the rest of her life. Draco suddenly found it surprising that he didn't want that...he really didn't. But his convictions, his will, was his father's...and he would do what was best for his family and his soon-to-be company. A responsibility, when he really thought about it, that made him slightly nauseated. Draco squeezed his eyes shut.

Would he be doomed to live a life unloved? In a marriage that was more like a prison than anything? Doomed as a cooperate figurehead, and lost in the avarice of money and fame? His thoughts ran away with him and he straightened up silently. Fixing his suit so that he was his impeccable self once more, he watched through the window as they pulled up to a squat alabaster building. Groups of people were heading toward the elevator, people Draco had never seen before dressed in fine clothes and winter jackets. Draco wondered if it was the right place...surely Harry wasn't that popular.

He got out of the limo and gave his hand to Pansy, who stepped out delicately and sneered at their surroundings. Draco rolled his eyes as Blaise hopped out, followed by Severus. Draco had been surprised when Severus said he would be attending as well, but new that the only reason he was going was because Remus had said he would be there. Harry had, it looked like, invited their entire group, as well as the many that were walking down the sidewalk towards the building. The people ahead of them laughed cheerfully, and one girl looked back and saw Draco and Pansy. Immediately the group turned their heads at the two and gaped.

Draco sighed, knowing it would take all of his tolerance to get through the night.

"Harry's got a big turn out, doesn't he?" observed Blaise. Pansy gave him a sideways glance and then glared back at the group that was staring at them. "What floor is it on?"

Severus cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should follow the crowd, Zabini," he set off ahead towards the group, who held the elevator for them.

"I never follow crowds, I'm a free spirit, Snape!" Pansy and Draco passed him without a glance and Blaise ran to catch up.

The elevator doors closed and Draco grimaced. For six floors the group stared at them in silent awe, and it was still enough time for Blaise to tease Draco mercilessly.

"Excited Draco?" he asked, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Oh yes, it's all very thrilling."

"I'm sure Harry will be glad to see you."

Draco turned to his friend and gave him a sour look. He glanced at Pansy, who was glaring at Blaise so hard Draco imagined her head hurt. Severus sniggered beside them, watching the buttons as the lights changed to match each floor.

Blaise stuffed his hands in his pockets and smiled. "Fuck! I can't wait to see Harry, he's just so nice, and pleasant to talk to. Jokes with me all the time..." he said offhandedly. "I've never met someone so down-to-earth. Sounds perfect, doesn't he, Draco?"

"Er..."

"He's very well-known you know, fucking famous. Yeah, it's hard to tell with him," Blaise tapped the side of his temple, and whispered loudly. "Doesn't let it get to his head."

Draco looked at the group behind him briefly, alarmed to see them hanging off of every word his friend was saying.

"I fucking love that guy..." and Blaise swung his hands back and forth childishly. "I've never met a better person, I mean...he's just so..."

"Alright!" Pansy snapped. "If you can't say anything relevant, Blaise, then don't speak at all."

"Oh but I'm pretty sure I got my point across," he retorted, and they glared at each other.

Ever since Harry had gotten back, Blaise had developed a new hobby. Somehow, his best friend playing matchmaker seemed a little too frat house musical to Draco, but he did find it amusing. Whenever and wherever he was able, Blaise would bring up Harry. How Harry was so wonderful, so attractive, so smart...and inside Draco's head he was silently agreeing with him. Blaise's newfound assignment in getting them together was more annoying than anything, though immensely entertaining all the same. Remus had also taken to telling Draco where Harry was, with a sly smirk that screamed Severus. Draco had told Severus that he was a bad influence on Remus.

When Remus had come back from their date, he had immediately forgiven Harry for disappearing. Harry had, at first, tried to give Remus money, and Draco's eyes had gone wide at the wrapped one hundred dollar bills in his hand. More importantly, Draco wanted to know where the hell Harry had gotten a thousand dollars. Perhaps wherever he had been for two weeks had paid off...and though it was a theory, it wasn't all that comforting. Remus had talked with Harry for a while, and listened to the apologies enough before he simply asked the brunette to leave a note next time. Everything was suddenly patched up, like a quilt made of drama, and back to normal.

They hit the sixth floor with a bing, and the elevator doors opened. Letting the group go first, Draco watched as they looked back at them with shy smiles. Draco stepped out and looked around the wide, white room. Paintings hung haphazardly about, large canvas, small canvas...not canvas at all. Mildly impressed, Draco led Pansy across the floor, snatching two glasses of champagne from a rotating waiter. The minor works in the front, they did not pay attention to, but followed the same group in the elevator toward the back of the room, where now familiar paintings hung on the wall.

"Is that his?" Pansy asked, and Draco turned at the slight surprise in her voice.

"That's Harry."

She was silent. They each looked at Harry's paintings, the people gazing at his canvas didn't say anything either. It was something that shocked them, enthralled them...the bursts of color...the entwining shapes and lines.

"He's good," Pansy said quietly, and suddenly tilted the rest of her champagne down her throat. She swallowed with difficulty. "Excuse me."

Draco watched her go, frowning.

"Wow," Blaise commented, staring at the painting. "It looks way more impressive hung up on a wall. Look at this one..."

He walked over to his friend and looked, his glass tipping in his hand. The canvas was splattered in the dark colors, with blotches of white stars. Despite the way it was painted, it somehow seemed realistic. Draco wanted to step into it.

"Harry, man," Blaise breathed. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Hey you two!" came a welcoming voice, and they turned. Remus smiled as he walked with Severus on his arm, and Dennis by his side...his face awe struck.

Remus came up beside them. "Isn't he amazing?" he said, in regards to Harry.

"I have to admit, the boy has talent," Severus reluctantly admitted. "Where's Pansy?"

"Don't know, mingling I suppose," Draco shrugged elegantly.

There was no sign of Harry anywhere, though tons of people had come to see his work. The paintings that Draco had fought with Harry over leaving them around, were now hung for all to see. Draco had never appreciated them before, and now that he was able to admit it...he could see why Harry was so popular. There was a very dark quality to every one of his pieces. Black was an ever present color, even in landscapes where the sun was present. It had a very mystical, solid presence that made looking at Harry's paintings somehow very personal.

Draco got himself another glass and gazed around. Severus, Denis and Remus were talking by a table full of food, and Blaise and Pansy were both meandering. He was considering asking one of the waiters where the artist was, but was interrupted by someone laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey," said Oliver Wood. "Draco, right?"

Immediately, he was on the defensive. Draco wondered if Blaise knew Wood was here as the man reached out to shake his hand.

"That's right," he said warily.

Wood nodded. "Listen, I'm sorry about the whole club incident...I was drunk, and well..."

"Potter gave us your excuses already."

"Did he? Yeah, that's Harry," Wood shook his head and sighed.

"Have you seen him yet?" Draco asked, hopefully indifferently.

The man frowned at him, but smiled a bit. "Yeah, he was just here."

"Right."

Despite his efforts, he knew he sounded ticked off, and Wood noticed as well. Draco watched him shake his head, looking carefully at the painting before turning back and smiling.

"If you look carefully, there's always one thing in every one of Harry's paintings..." Wood said, and he pointed.

Draco frowned, looking at the canvas in front of him carefully. He hadn't noticed it until Wood pointed it out, but when he did, it was there staring him in the face like something terrible. Almost invisibly, an eerie bolt of lightening stared out at him from the starry night, and upon glance at the painting next to it...there it was again. Sometimes it shifted to the side, sometimes it was in the corner; often times smack dab in the middle. It glowed a strange iridescent color, spidery strands of light emerging from the main bolt, where it usually hit black space. Once Draco noticed it, he wished he hadn't. It was unnerving.

"Is it in every painting?" he asked slowly.

Wood nodded. "Every single one. I asked him what it meant once...he was surprised I noticed it."

"Did he say...?"

"No, never did tell me. I suppose it's personal," he abruptly changed the subject. "If I see him, do you want me to tell him you're looking for him?"

"No!" Draco said a little too quickly. "I'm not really," he clarified. "It's only polite to greet your guests though."

"Not at an art show," and he chuckled. "You'll find that if no one knows you're the artist, it's easier to catch honest comments."

Draco grimaced, taking a sip of his drink. "Well that has to be depressing."

Smirking, Wood turned away from him. "Not if you're good."

He watched as the man walked away, immediately jumping into conversation with people he knew that greeted him with an exclaimed 'hey!'. Draco looked back at the painting, his brow creasing as he surveyed the now startlingly brilliant lightening bolt. He felt as if he'd stumbled upon a secret, and felt decidedly smug about it too. He was distracted when Blaise sidled up to him, looking nervous.

"Draco," he said, shifting his eyes. "Draco, man, that TV is yelling at me."

Letting Blaise drag him over to the installation, his friend immediately pointed at it accusingly. Beside it another TV had pictures of a woman on top of a house. He looked to where Blaise was gesturing, and sighed.

"I think it's supposed to be art."

"That's art?" he said indignantly. "A yelling head in a TV calling you a fucker is art?"

Draco shrugged. "I guess. In New York, maybe."

"Fuck, I could do that. Do you think anyone would buy my 'Crotch Fire' shrine?"

"The one made out of toilet tissue and linoleum?'

"Yeah."

"No."

Blaise was very put out, but didn't mention it again. He decided to inspect the installations a bit more before they both moved towards the front, where they were greeted by a rather ugly looking portrait.

"Ugh," and Blaise flinched. "Who's that guy?"

"Nobody we know," Draco murmured, swallowing down his champagne.

A rotating waiter held a tray of finger sandwiches out to Blaise, and he looked at them in interest. He reached out for one, hungry, and then went to take the gum out of his mouth. Draco watched as his friend floundered for a moment, looking for a place to put it...before shrugging and sticking it directly onto the ugly portrait. Draco closed his eyes and shook his head as Blaise ate happily.

"Hi!"

They both turned, Blaise distractedly inspecting his food, and Draco found himself staring into the bright green eyes of Harry Potter. Harry was dressed in his usual worn jeans and simple shirt, though this time he was wearing a black blazer that Draco had never seen before. His hair was tousled and elegant, even though it stuck up vicariously, and he bounced in place with nervous energy in front of them. Blaise shoved his sandwich into Harry's line of vision.

"What's in this?"

Harry looked at it carefully. "Oh, I think soy cheese, red cabbage, and mint leaf. None of which have any trace of animal discharge," he added happily. They both ignored Blaise as he choked.

"You know," Draco said, putting a finger to his chin. "I think I saw a sacrificial ceremony on Second Street the other day, I could of sworn there was a struggling goat."

"Are you sure it wasn't your fiancé? Oh but then, I just saw her carrying your backbone to the elevator."

Blaise coughed, mouthing 'mint leaf?' at an irate Draco.

"I saw Wood earlier," he spoke a seemingly offhanded comment. "He seems to think you're the Van Gogh incarnate."

Harry titled his head, his eyes flashing. Draco took on hi silence, and looked at him accusingly.

"You wearing his coat?" he nodded to the blazer, unable to stop himself.

"It is winter," Harry snapped.

"I'm surprised at you Potter," Draco said mildly, taking a glass off of a tray. "I never thought you were a fuck-on-the-first-date sort of person."

The artist scowled. "We've been friends for a long time..."

"Not from what I hear. He wants you, you know. He's always wanted you," Draco let out a bitter laugh. "Though I haven't the faintest idea why."

Harry flinched angrily and clenched his teeth, though the surprise on his face was hard to conceal. "What-you...stupid...why are we talking about Oliver anyway?"

"All he talks about is you," Draco snapped.

"Can we not do this here? Please?"

He watched as Harry suddenly looked very reluctant to spar. Draco raised his eyes to the ceiling and let out a suffering sigh. He remembered Blaise and looked around for him, but gave up when his friend had seemingly vanished. He turned back to Harry, who was still flushed with anger and confusion.

"At least tell me Oliver didn't..." Harry suddenly said, and paled. " I mean, god, I don't know what I mean."

"Don't worry," Draco said sardonically. "I didn't ask about your mysterious past. You're under the delusion that I actually care."

Harry looked at his feet, biting his lip, and Draco straightened.

"My goat of a fiancé was impressed by your work," admittedly trying to lighten the tension, Draco sipped his glass. "You have everyone starry-eyed over you."

"You get enough fame to understand it's an uncomfortable feeling, yeah?"

"Oh no. No, I adore the media. They particularly love jamming their noses into my business like I'm an interesting new species at the zoo...and if you say anything about primates I'll tell everyone you sleep with your mouth open," he added.

Harry suddenly smirked. "Watching me while I sleep now, Draco?"

Draco was exempt of responding to that, and in time too...since he didn't especially know what to say, by Remus and Severus. They walked up to them, one smiling, and the other content.

"Harry, I just wanted to congratulate you on such a great show," Remus said, and he shook Harry's hand.

"Oliver says someone's already bought them all," he said, blushing timidly.

"What!" Remus pulled him into a hug. "That's wonderful, isn't it Severus?"

"Surprising," the man said impassively, but then added his two cents. "Congratulations indeed."

"Is that gum on that portrait?" Dennis interrupted, and they all turned to look at the painting.

Draco sighed. "Blaise."

"Where is Zabini? I hope you haven't left him alone, Draco," warned Severus.

"Blaise put gum on that painting?" Harry asked, shocked. "That's horrible!"

"Artist to artist, it must be devastating," Draco said rudely. " I find it makes it look a little less uglier."

Harry scowled. "Maybe next time he'll put a wad of gum on your face, and you'll look a bit better as well."

Dennis sniggered, and Remus felt his eyebrows raise. "Well, right, Harry...we'd best be going. Need to be home before it gets too late. Mrs. Sprout sends her congratulations, and heartily wishes she could have gone."

"Oh, I had hoped she would come," Harry gave them a tiny wave. "See you later, then."

Draco and Harry were left in the silence of their leave taking, with the clink of glasses, quiet murmurs, and laughter as background music. Harry didn't look at him, but rather settled for angrily stewing in silence. Draco hid his smirk behind his champagne glass.

"Since Severus is off with your flower man, there's room for one more in the limo," he offered.

"Oliver says he'll take me home..."

Draco's teeth clenched. "You sure he isn't planning on a detour? One with nakedness and a bed?"

"You're really annoying me, you know that? We're not involved!"

"Come home with me, in my limo, and I won't mention it again."

He watched as the brunette seethed, his beryl eyes flashing dangerously at him through black bangs. Harry swallowed difficultly and nodded.

"Fine, but you'll have to wait until the shows over." The brunette turned away then, unaware he was giving a very greedy blond a pleasant view of his backside.

Draco had to wait another hour before people started leaving, and by then the night was late and he was wearing on patience. Pansy had come back to stand beside him, more than angry that Harry would be riding home with them, and refusing to talk. He had to plead with her to get her to take the limo back to her apartment, negotiating that she would be dropped off first. His car was at her place, anyway. Blaise would be another problem, though he had not gotten into his matchmaking mood quite yet, Draco had no doubt that it would be coming. Blaise had decided to raid the food on the tables, and was disappointed to find all the necessary tastes for any vegans at the party, and no meat eaters.

The room died down from its loud buzz of laughter and talk, and it wasn't long before there were only a few groups still hovering about. Draco saw Harry talking to Oliver Wood, and grimaced. The other man, however, didn't look mad at Harry's change in transportation...he was amused, it seemed. Draco sneered, turning to place his empty glass (how many had he had?) onto the table. Blaise glanced at him forlornly from where the waiters were taking away the dishes. Pansy sighed next to him, and Draco ignored her.

He watched as Harry gesticulated as he talked, his head tilting ever so often and his face alight with interest. Shocking black hair fell into his eyes ever so often, and Harry would absent mindedly brush it away. His posture sparkling with personality, he observed Oliver as he talked, and suddenly Harry's face changed dramatically. He blushed, a brilliant crimson blossoming across his cheeks, his hands abruptly losing their lift; his eyes quickly glancing toward Draco. Harry bit his lip and shook his head, glaring at Oliver briefly before turning away. Oliver grabbed his arm, laughing, and though Harry did not join in; he smiled a bit.

Draco felt a sudden pain in his chest, more a jolt than anything, and he knitted his eyebrows together. He wanted to speak with Harry like Oliver did, as if they were good friends having a good time...being good and kind to each other. Harry was, after all, kind to everyone. He only ever got angry and hurt in Draco's proximity...he was so lost in thought he didn't notice Pansy huff and leave to wait by the limo. He didn't notice Harry going into an adjacent room, and Oliver Wood coming up to him rather suddenly.

"Harry's just getting his pack," said Wood, startling him.

Draco smirked. "Good. I see you two were talking rather intimately over there," he couldn't help but mention bitterly. Oliver looked at him, before he smiled.

"You know Draco Malfoy, I think you may be different."

Confused, Draco raised an eyebrow. "Compared to whom?"

"Comparted to the other guys Harry's caught in his trap," Wood gave an unexpected laugh. "I should tell you..."

Somehow, Draco knew that this was the defining moment. The moment he would learn something that would make or break any chance of a relationship with Harry. He tried not to lean forward, but failed miserably, and Wood noticed it as well. He gave a rare and rather sincere grin.

"You're different because...Harry looks at you differently than the others. He...notices you."

Draco blinked. "All we do is threaten each other..."

"That's just the thing, Harry's always been strictly non confrontational, but when it comes to you...it's like he doesn't know what to do with himself."

"What exactly did you say to him over there?" Draco asked, nervously.

Wood sighed. "I called him on his treating you different. I told him to take a chance."

Draco nodded, angry. "And now you're telling me the same thing? What about your near slip? What about Harry being 'afraid of commitment'?"

He had wanted to ask ever since Wood had mentioned it at the club, but hadn't had the chance since that night when he and Harry had fought...right before Harry had disappeared.

"He runs. That's what Harry does best," the man said, smiling. "But he won't run from love. He wasn't in love with Cedric, and he wasn't in love with any of the other hopefuls he left behind. Cedric had asked Harry for commitment, and Harry had said yes without really thinking about it. I think that was the only major relationship he's ever been in..."

Wood's eyes changed suddenly, and he looked down at his feet-stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"If you want to try, I think he could really love you. You've got too much tension to not work with it."

Draco nodded, agreeing reluctantly. He bit his lip, and Wood teetered on his feet for a moment. "I'll see you around, Malfoy," and he left.

Standing uncertainly beside the wall opposite the elevator, Draco watched as a group of chattering young men and women waited for the lift. Harry soon came out of the back room, smiling at one of the waiters before making his way over to Draco with Blaise in tow. Harry looked at him once, and blushed.

"Come on, Pansy's waiting," Draco motioned towards the exit, only just noticing Harry's ugly back pack around his shoulder. He let Blaise and Harry go first, before the elevator doors closed and he pressed the down button.

"I still don't understand how that's art!"

"It's just someone's perspective on a certain subject, Blaise. Don't you ever think that anything could be art?"

Blaise smirked. "I think a taco would be art, especially right now. Draco can we get a taco?"

Draco gave him a look that said 'maybe' and didn't answer.

"If everything's art," Blaise said. "Then why can't I be an artist, huh?"

"I'm sure you could." Harry agreed consolingly.

"I've got a few ideas. We can use food, yeah?"

"That's culinary arts, they don't have art shows for that."

The doors opened and Draco was greeted with the sight of a very angry Pansy. She leant against the side of the limo, her eyes instantly finding Harry and glaring with undisguised hatred. Harry ignored her, or didn't seem to notice, and hitched his bag higher up on his shoulder. They entered the car one by one, and soon Mr. Filch was driving them down the street.

Riding in the limo with a very hungry Blaise, an angry Pansy, and an uncomfortable Harry didn't promise to be too eventful, and Draco resigned himself to staring out of the window at the passing lights. A nervous coil of dread grew in his stomach, pushing him into action, suggesting things...in an oddly Wood sounding voice. He drummed his fingers on the door handle and drowned out Harry and Blaise's nonsense conversation.

Eventually, after what seemed hours of dull nothingness, they arrived outside Pansy's apartment. She lived in a very nice building in Manhattan, bought by her dad for her sixteenth Birthday; something he claimed was a hideaway for his 'little princess'. Pansy got out of the car without a word to anyone, and slammed the door. She walked up the steps to her building and disappeared through the entrance held open for her.

"She didn't seem too happy," Blaise commented dryly.

They each got out of the limo carefully, and Draco surprised himself (and his companions) by offering Harry a hand. Harry looked down at his outstretched palm for a few seconds, and then blushed, taking the offered help. They caught each other's eyes a moment, and Harry gazed at him unsurely. They realized their hands were still clasped, and pulled away as if burned.

Draco cleared his throat. "Are you taking the limo, Blaise, or should I drop you off at home?"

"I'll go ahead and take the limo home, Mr. Filch can get me a taco from somewhere," he grinned smugly. "You two have a good time without me."

Blaise climbed back into the car, smirking at Draco one last time, before the door shut and the tinted windows obscured him from their view. The limo drove off, and Draco turned to Harry, waving a hand.

"My cars just parked over here."

Harry nodded, and followed him over to a small parking garage. Draco asked the bellhop to bring his car around, and they waited in silence. If Draco thought the drive to Pansy's was awkward, then the drive home seemed like torture. They didn't talk, for fear, Draco assumed, of fighting, and Harry remained silent under the sound of the music coming from the radio. Every now and then they would give each other shy smiles, aware of the other's eyes upon them, or Draco would furrow his brow knowing Harry was watching...or Harry would turn away feeling as if Draco was going to surprise him with a glance.

They played their game for the entire drive home, and when Draco finally parked his car in front of Fleur-de-lis, he had run out of sly side looks and emotionless expressions. Harry was grabbing his things from the floor, and Draco was watching, his hands still on the steering wheel. He suddenly brought his hand to lay on top of Harry's, as he reached for his backpack strap. Harry blushed, looking up at him in confusion.

"What is it?" he asked.

Draco simply looked at him, unsure and terribly insecure. Harry sat up and frowned at him, tilting his head and surveying Draco as if he were dense.

"What?"

He didn't know what made him do it-didn't know what possessed him-but suddenly there was something pushing him to lean forward across the seat. Something was egging Draco on, and he wasn't too prone to ignoring such a forceful, lustful drive. He was only vaguely aware of Harry's wide eyes, and his own hesitation. Close enough to feel Harry's breath on his lips, Draco looked into bright green and abruptly came back to reality. He made to move away...

...and was stopped rather abruptly by someone else's mouth. Lips, daring though endearingly shy, settled upon his for a slow moment. They shared a breath, a very young and new connection, before Draco was moving with measured grace against him, and Harry was closing his eyes. Pulling Harry's bottom lip in between his own, he left a butterfly kiss on the side of his mouth, before delving deeper into something he had once thought forbidden. Something that was still forbidden...if he remembered correctly...

Harry drew away from him, swallowing. Draco felt as if his lips were on fire, and he breathed in deeply at the prickles across his skin. Harry had a hand over his mouth, and he was staring out of the window of their parked car. Draco watched him for a minute, and slowly leaned back in his seat. Harry shook his head once, and got out of the car.

They walked into the loft silently, careful not to wake anyone sleeping downstairs. Harry set his bag down on his mattress and went over to the refrigerator, looking in it without hope of finding anything to eat. Draco moved around him and took off his coat, shivering. Harry turned the lights out, kicking off his shoes and heading towards his bed. As Draco walked towards his room, Harry now wrapping himself in a blanket, despite the closing of his door and silence in the loft-they both knew something had changed. Rather, a door had opened-instead of closed.


	15. Twenty Questions

Harry wasn't all that fond of confrontations. He hated the emptiness after a bad moment with someone and the awkward tension that drifted in between two people after they had yelled themselves into silence. He hated the hotheaded simmer that he was left with after pleading his side of an argument and the desperate need to cry. Harry never cried, though, even if he felt like it after a shouting match with his roommate.

It was, therefore, not really a welcome change, but a change nonetheless when angry consternation turned into awkward civility. Rather than screaming over eating apples too loudly, leaving canvas on the floor, or being an irresponsible idiot, they now settled into a sort of careful avoidance. Harry was working hard at staying out of a fight. He wasn't sure whether or not Draco was doing the same, but overall their tacit agreement to forget last night's events worked splendidly.

Sometimes, and in what Harry would call a fit of insanity, Draco would give him a very frustrated glance, smoldering and unsatisfied. Harry would only avert his gaze; this was one artist that wasn't going to fall into a trap. Draco would not lead him into starting a fight. Together, they built a wall of denial – a wall that didn't have any particular purpose but to make the people inside of it feel a bit safer. Otherwise, it was a fort made out of paper dolls

Harry hadn't realized – and he looked heavenward at the confession – that he was attracted to his roommate. He hadn't noticed it until suddenly they were kissing and he was enjoying it, and suddenly everything had gone to hell in a handbasket and he was left with a terribly guilty feeling. He couldn't even blame the incident on Draco, since he had been the one to lean forward and finish what the blond had started. All and all, the atmosphere in the loft ranged from devastatingly unenviable to faintly resigned.

It was on a lovely Saturday, with Harry painting a gray canvas red and Draco looking over paperwork, that their confrontation began. With piano and saxophone echoing about the room, Harry's hair flipped to the side and strung with paint; the tension between them awoke by accident. Draco was already frustrated over whatever it was that he was looking at, and made rather upset and impatient noises to express himself. He lounged on the sofa in slacks and a polo shirt, his hair as impeccable as always, with his tie loosened about his neck and his shoes propped up on the coffee table.

No matter how much he tried, Harry could not convince himself that this languid Draco Malfoy was unattractive. He resolved to changing brushes and closing his eyes to the ringing jazz. Harry hitched up his jeans a bit, aware that they had been sliding as he spread red paint across his canvas, giving Draco a nice show of smooth skin. He cast a glance in Draco's direction and caught grey eyes quickly looking away.

Their awkwardness had never been sexual, and Harry supposed that that was why he was having such a hard time with their fight. Ever since their kiss (precisely two days, seventeen hours, and fifty-eight minutes ago, an exact time that Harry didn't know Draco had counted down on his phone), they both had lived with their insecurity – and with the fact that was the basis for their denial: Draco was a cheat, and he had kissed Harry. Unfaithful to an unwanted fiancée, perhaps, but a cheat nevertheless.

If there was one thing Harry despised, it was people who played with the feelings of others. Dating somebody was one thing, but being engaged? Harry resolved that Draco needed to get his priorities straight, while Draco silently fumed: No one ignored a Malfoy, even in an unlawful advance.

Draco was a bit too hotheaded to see reason that Saturday afternoon, and Harry knew it as he set down his brush and ran a hand through his hair.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked, slightly worried. Draco looked up quickly and ground his teeth.

"No. Does it seem like there's something wrong?" he snapped without meaning to. Harry didn't bristle, but he looked decidedly put-out.

"Well, you're making a lot of noise over those papers of yours." He shrugged. "I was only wondering if you'd like some help…"

"Help?"Draco scoffed but gave him a speculative look. "Do you know anything bout accounting?"

Harry shrugged. "A little bit. I've done a lot of…"

"…things. Yeah, you keep saying that." Draco shook his head. "Just go back to painting. I'll try to be quieter."

It would have been a very considerate gesture had Draco not said it as if he were dismissing a minion.

"Very nice. I was only trying to help."

"Well, don't. Just do what you do best."

The 'which is absolutely nothing' was implied by his snotty tone, and Harry abruptly turned on his heel and dumped his paint cup into the sink. He turned the water on full blast and the sound of it hitting metal as he scrubbed furiously distracted Draco from his papers. Grey eyes watched him in no little annoyance and an involuntary desire as he started to scrub the counter with his head lowered, a thoughtful look on his face.

"Just stop! Can't you just stop?"

Harry looked up at Draco's sharp voice and scowled. "What? Go back to your paperwork! It is what you do best."

"Ha, ha. You're as funny as Blaise," said Draco, his eyes narrowing. "I really need to get this done."

"Am I stopping you?" Harry threw down his rag. "Why don't you stop staring at me and get back to work?"

Apparently, this was a bit of a wrong thing to say… calling him on his staring. Embarrassing as attraction undoubtedly was…

"Like I'd stare at your ugly ass."

Draco seemed determined to make it worse.

"Oh just shut up. Why can't you ever just shut up when you're supposed to." He gave a frustrated sigh.

"You sound like my father, thanks."

Harry shook his head and started scrubbing again. "Well, maybe he had the right idea. There's times when you stop, Draco. Times when you don't open your mouth and hurt people." He straightened up and stared at the blond helplessly. "Don't you have any common sense whatsoever?"

"Common sense!" Suddenly Draco was on his feet. "Who's the lowlife that disappears randomly and lives like a bum for no apparent reason? But wait, I forgot, you're the screw-up, not me, so how could I possibly understand?"

His tone had descended into mocking sympathy, and Harry flinched. "See? You blow up on people randomly." He looked away. "Common sense would be not snapping my head off and being a little nice for once."

"You're crazy," Draco said abruptly. "Accusing me of having no sense… that's a laugh." He sat back down on the sofa heavily. "You're nuts."

Harry looked away from him and chewed his bottom lip, more than a little hurt. To his surprise – and consternation –, Draco was not finished.

"Common sense would also be not kissing an engaged man."

Harry's jaw dropped. "I can't believe you just said that!" He frowned and leaned forward over the sink. "I honestly can't believe you just said that."

"You're getting crazy and redundant in your old age." Draco straightened his back and brought a document up to his eyes, smirking. "While you're in the kitchen, do you think you could make me a sandwich?"

"You're an asshole," Harry suddenly commented. "To think I actually wanted you to kiss me."

Though he'd said it more to himself than to Draco, it was impossible for the other man to not have heard. There was a silent moment between them, with horns playing soulfully throughout the room, before Draco set down his papers and scowled.

"That was a no-fair comment."

"So was yours about kissing an engaged man."

"Yeah, well, it's true isn't it?"

Harry looked down at his hands, still wet from cleaning the sink and covered in dry paint. He contemplated trying to scrub the acrylic off, but he had never had such a notion before, and so he vetoed it. Suddenly, he found himself wanting to look better and to not feel so disgusting in front of Draco. The only other person he'd ever changed for had been Cedric, but Harry didn't want to think about that. It made shame and distaste flame up inside of him. Now it seemed as though Draco regretted their kiss, and Harry thought that he should have known.

"It's true, and I'm sorry for it."

Draco groaned, setting his feet back down on the floor and shaking his head.

"Don't go all insecure and moody on me. I only meant that you finished what I started." He paused to think. "It was…"

Although he felt tempted to press him with a 'yes', Harry managed to keep quiet. Draco seemed to be contemplating the pros and cons of something, and Harry wondered if being nice was always such a hard decision for the blond. Draco looked up at him and opened his mouth, then closed it again. Harry watched him, confused, as he made to say something else, but stopped.

"Go to dinner with me!" he blurted out.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"As friends," Draco added, "just as friends. I can be nice." He sat up completely. "I really can!"

The silence was back, and even the finger snapping music seemed mellower. Harry frowned, watching his roommate speculatively and thinking hard. Why on earth would he want to go to dinner?

Draco shuffled his papers. "Maybe we can get to know the nice side of me better. If we're going to be living together, you know?" He looked up with sudden determination. "We probably should have done that from the start. Gone to dinner. So, yeah."

Harry waited for his speech to end and then leaned against the counter with his arms folded, his eyes bright. Draco's gaze wandered from his eyes over his chest down to his legs, and Harry felt himself blush at the obvious once-over.

"Well, I suppose," he responded uncomfortably. "When should we go?"

"Tonight."

"Tonight!"

"Yes, tonight. I have… other plans tomorrow and all throughout the week." Draco didn't meet his annoyed glare, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"With your fiancée, no doubt? You know, the person you're going to marry."

"Dinner," Draco said firmly, "as friends."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "And you'll be nice?"

"I'll be nice."

It didn't take much thought. "Alright. I'll just… go get ready."

"Why? You look fine."

Harry looked back at him, his hand still on the door, and gave him a lovely smile. That smile, that made Draco's heart go klathump.

"Maybe you can be nice. I'll go get ready."

He left. Draco suddenly hopped up, aware that he looked a scruffy mess and that he didn't even know where they were going. He ran into his room and began to rummage through his casual clothes and t-shirts, unaware that his date was in as much of a ruckus as he.

If there was a song to express sexual tension, Harry was sure it would be playing as they made their way to dinner that night. Perhaps it would be loud and stringy, or slow and seductive. To Harry it didn't matter, just as long as it ended. The thought of the inevitable crescendo of feelings, however, made him want the song to never end and possibly have a second, third, and fourth part. Their heavy tune was riddled with sly looks and forced smiles. Why are we doing this? He looked around Draco's car as they drove through traffic and sighed.

The sun was just setting over Manhattan, and the lights and sounds of New York decided to catch onto their song as well. People and places streamed by, disappearing one by one as they headed towards their destination. Harry wasn't sure what restaurant they were going to, but he hoped to God they had a vegetarian menu. He did not have the patience for Draco and his meat jokes tonight. He felt the car speed up and then they were turning down an alley into the better district of the city. Large towering buildings looked down at them crossly with scattered lights in the windows. They parked just outside the cluster of towers and Harry gave their faceless windows a scolding look.

"They're just buildings, you know," Draco saw fit to say, smiling at Harry.

"I still don't like them." Harry stepped onto the curb and watched steam rise from the subway, securing his backpack over his shoulder and shoving his hands in his pockets. He was wearing a pair of Remus' black dress pants and a clean buttoned shirt. His hair had been untamable, as usual, and he had been completely reluctant to take off his Converse. All in all, Remus had said he looked stunning. Although, when Draco had descended the stairs to the loft, it had been hard for Harry not to feel ugly in his own skin.

"They are just buildings." He gave Draco an odd look. "But they make up the likes of corporate America. They tarnish good society."

Draco raised both hands in defense. "Being nice here, but you're a bohemian." He walked onto the curb after locking his car and gave Harry a patient grin. "Ready?"

"Where are we going?" Harry asked as they started walking.

"Sarabande."

"Oh!" Harry stopped in surprise. "Remus said Snape took him there on their date."

"Did they?" Draco walked on, not particularly interested. "Well, you'll like this place, it's got a number of different selections for, uh, non-meat eaters."

Harry slapped him on the arm rather hard. "No vegan jokes."

"Alright." Draco was smiling. He looked down the street as they walked. "I don't understand how you can't love the city at night."

"That was a profound thing to say."

"Decidedly out of character, but…"

Harry's green eyes shone with amusement. "It is nice, even if my vegan senses are tingling."

Draco threw his head back and laughed, and Harry was suddenly struck by the thought that Draco had a nice voice.

"Now who's got the jokes?"

They walked on companionably until they reached their destination. Harry immediately liked the homey atmosphere that greeted him on the way in. Red brick glazed the front and inside of Sarabande and the lights from the street made the inside interior seem dim. They were received immediately, and Harry placed his pack by his feet as they sat down. He smiled at Draco across from him and ordered wine for them both. Harry didn't particularly like wine, but tonight the mood called for it.

"So tell me about yourself, Mr. Harry Potter." Draco smiled charmingly.

"As friends meeting friends, of course," Harry admonished.

"Friends, absolutely." He took a rather large sip of his drink. "So? Are you so boring that you don't want to elaborate on the subject of yourself?"

"I think you do that enough for the two of us."

"It's likely. How about I start with the questions? All you have to do is answer."

Harry frowned. "What if it's something I don't want to answer?"

"Well, naturally you'll lie."

"No Uncle, eh? You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Malfoy."

Their conversation was briefly interrupted by their waiter, who introduced himself and briefly outlined tonight's 'romantic' dishes, which caused major blushing on Harry's part and a rather large smile to erupt on Draco's face.

They were served an appetizer and Harry looked at it with interest before digging in.

"You know what forks to use," Draco commented approvingly.

Harry glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. "I'm not completely ignorant."

Still, the nonchalance with which Harry had placed his napkin on his thigh, used the two forks, and handled his glass was as elegant as any well-born Draco had ever met. Hell, Harry had better manners than Blaise, and he was bred into society as if he were royalty! Draco shook himself out of his thoughts and tried to smile.

"Right then, a question…"

"Only if I get to ask you one as well."

"Okay," Draco readily agreed and then looked up in thought. "Where were you born?"

"Here." Harry smirked at him. "Brooklyn."

"I didn't know that," Draco said, surprised. "How long did you live here?"

"Ah, ah, my turn for a question." Harry put down his silverware. "Did you go to college? I didn't hear anybody mention it."

"I took my GEDs and passed the college curriculum at seventeen. Much like you did."

Harry nodded. "That's very impressive. You must know your trade well."

"Naturally. Now, repeat question: How long did you live here and where did you go after that?"

Grinning, Harry sat forward and shook his head. "That's two questions in one, I do believe that's cheating."

"I never elaborated on the rules. Go ahead and answer," Draco prompted.

Harry sat back and tilted his head, smirking. He took a sip of his wine and looked away for a moment. "I left when I was nine and moved to England to live with relatives."

"You moved to England? Why don't you have an accent?"

"It's my turn for a question, Draco," Harry reminded him.

Draco pouted but nodded in agreement.

"How long has your father owned Madison and David?"

Frowning, Draco thought for a moment and then shrugged. "I think about nine years. He's had it ever since I can remember. Or been a part of it at least. Why do you ask?"

Harry smirked. "Is that your next question?"

"What? Oh, no, I have more." He sat back as the plates were taken away and watched as Harry asked for a glass of cider. A very elegant way of declining wine.

"Now, describe where you've been up until arriving here in New York."

"You never said we could give complex questions!"

"I didn't think you'd be able to come up with one."

Harry laughed good-naturedly and pondered his answer for a moment. "I left my relatives when I was ten to go to a boarding school in Rhode Island. I got bored and left when I was twelve to travel around. Do you honestly want me to list every single place?"

"No, you don't have to. Are you saying, though, that you've been traveling around like a bum since you were twelve?"

"Pretty much," Harry , smiling.

Draco paused with a look of alarm and confusion on his face. "Why?"

"I like traveling. I hate staying in one place for too long."

"This might be a snobbish and distinctively rude thing to ask, but where on earth did you get the money to just wander around the world?"

"Well, I worked a lot, and my parents left me an inheritance, of course. I got by. Hey! You haven't let me ask any questions…" Harry tossed his napkin at him and they both laughed.

Their waiter suddenly stepped onto a platform to announce something to the patrons and Harry and Draco watched as a man entered to scattered applause and sat at the piano. The clapping increased until another man approached with a saxophone. The waiter waved a hand at them in introduction and the duo began to play. The music was soft enough that they could still talk, but loud enough that their chatter wouldn't be considered rude. Harry smiled.

Draco realized that he liked seeing Harry happy and thought that it didn't take much to make his roommate smile. Suddenly Draco found himself wishing he could give Harry the world to make him look like this every day.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Draco glanced at his date inquiringly.

Harry bit his lip and thought for a moment, then asked, "What's your favorite color?"

"Green. Yours?"

"Red. Complementary."

"When did your parents die?"

Suddenly laughing, Harry set down his newly arrived cider and shook his head. "What a mood killer," he said, but he answered anyway. "When I was nine, that's when I was shipped off to England. My turn."

Harry had to wait until their food was placed on the table to continue. "If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?"

Draco frowned, took a bite of his lamb filet and chewed, a look of concentration on his face before he said, "Antarctica."

Harry burst into uncontrollable laughter. He set down his fork and knife and held his stomach. Draco watched him indignantly, but a smile tugged at the side of his lips.

"What! Oh my gosh, I can just see you frolicking with the penguins."

Draco snorted. "Right. Because it's been my life-long dream to frolic with fat, useless birds."

Trying to control himself, Harry put a hand over his mouth. Draco found himself wishing he wouldn't stop laughing because the sound was so pleasing to his ears.

"I can just see it, Draco Malfoy: Ice Prince of Antarctica."

"Oh yeah? If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?"

Harry shook his head, grinning. "Oh no, I'm not saying anything."

"Go on, you have to answer. And if it's anything worse than Antarctica, you'll never live it down."

"Well, I've always wanted to go to Russia."

It was Draco's turn to crack up, though he did bite his lip to hold it in a bit longer then Harry did.

Harry glared at him. "What's wrong with Russia?"

"The Mother Land. Harry, you're American! They'll stuff your vegetarian egg roll with a grenade!"

"Hey, at least I don't envision participating in penguin mating rituals in the Antarctic." Harry chuckled. "I can just see you getting chased by a polar bear."

They ate their dinner with sociable talk, and laughed over the question-and-answer they had started up to last throughout their meal. When they had finished their meal, Harry shook his head at coffee and they walked out into the night. The sounds of the jazz band emanating from the restaurant provided a pleasant background as they walked down the street. Harry smiled, happy because their sexual tension seemed to have diminished.

"Okay, okay!" Draco tried to stop laughing. They walked beside each other, bantering back and forth. "What was the most embarrassing moment of your life?"

Harry smiled. "That's hard to tell. I could trip over that wayward curb over there and land in the gutter."

"Hence the most embarrassing moment of my life," they both said simultaneously.

Harry thought hard, a comical look on his face, then said, "The time I accidentally let out a Boa Constrictor at the zoo."

"You did what?" Draco exclaimed, amused.

Harry grinned sheepishly. "I lifted the glass and it escaped. Everyone was running… and screaming."

"Are you sure you weren't an animal activist even then, and decided to free the snake from its confined, unnatural habitat?"

"No." Harry looked away. "It was an accident."

They both laughed and Draco raised an eyebrow at him. "Right."

"What was your most humiliating moment?" Harry asked, scrunching down in his coat for warmth. They arrived at the car and Draco got out his keys.

"When Blaise tripped me during my sixteenth birthday party and I landed in a bowl of spiked punch."

Harry didn't stop laughing until they were off driving down the street. Draco stopped at a red light and watched as Harry smiled out the window.

"So, as friends," Draco was sure to add, "what was the best part of our date?"

Harry looked at him with bright eyes and grinned. "I'd have to say all of it. Too bad we're just friends.

"Did I just suggest what I think I just suggested? Harry asked himself and quickly glanced away from Draco's suddenly predatory look. The harsh truth that Draco was engaged came scrambled through his mind afain and turned him off the pleasant mood. The sexual tension song was back, making Harry's nerves vibrate with anxiety. He suddenly felt the strong urge to paint; to paint anything that stood in his way. He had an abrupt mental image of splattering Pansy Parkinson with acrylic.

"Yeah. Too bad." Draco replied, and was that disappointment in his voice?

Harry decided to do something about the awkwardness.

"We need to go grocery shopping. We're out of milk."

"You don't drink milk."

"No, but you do."

Draco looked at him oddly, but suddenly his eyes were brighter and he zoned out as they drove back home. Harry left him to his thought and brooded over his own mistakes. He was confused and a little… angry, if he was completely honest with himself. He watched the lights pass by and rolled down the window a bit. The cool night air stung his cheeks but he didn't care.

"After New Years," Draco said, clearing his throat, "I'll be able to get the groceries and things."

"Oh yeah, that's right. You're taking time off."

Draco nodded. "For the… wedding," he finished lamely.

"Aren't you moving the date up?"

"Not if I can help it," he mumbled, but then suddenly sat up. "Speaking of New Years. There is a party at Madison and David's that night. I'm inviting you."

"What?" Harry asked, alarmed.

Draco smirked. "I admit that Father wasn't too happy about my choice of roommate at first, but now he's dying to meet you. Never had much contact with nonconformists, I think."

Harry sat up, looking flushed, the cold breeze from the window blowing into his hair and flipping it about.

"He knows who I am?"

Draco gave him an odd look. "Well, no. Can you roll that window up? I'm freezing."

When they reached the loft, Harry was still in deep thought and Draco in mild confusion. "I'd really like you to go. Since we're friends now and everything."

"Yeah, friends."

Harry got out of the car as soon as they parked, grabbed his bag, and they both trekked up the stairs. Harry turned to him at the top and smiled.

"I'd be happy to go to the party." He looked at his feet nervously. "I had a good time tonight."

He reached out a hand for Draco to shake, and suddenly Draco felt tempted to throw out the 'just friends' nonsense. He wanted to pull that hand until Harry's chest was pressed against his and they were intimately close. He suddenly had a mental picture of both of them toppling down the stairs and decided that shaking hands would have to do.

They walked up to the loft and got ready for bed; smiling at each other as they passed on the way to the bathroom. Harry sat on his mattress heavily and looked up at his grey and red canvas. He groaned and flopped down, only to fall asleep to the awkward song and dance in his head.

"I just don't get him!" Harry exclaimed the next morning while he was cleaning the shop. "If he wanted to date, why didn't he just ask me out like a normal person?"

Remus watched Harry sweep furiously and tried not to laugh.

"I mean, all he's ever done is annoy the hell out of me, and in one date, he shows he can be nice, and I'm suddenly stuck in the middle of this thing. I won't be a rebound if Draco breaks up with Parkinson!" He wagged a finger at Remus. "I won't!"

"I know you won't."

Harry suddenly stopped sweeping and stared at Remus intensely. "I know all he wants is… well, sex, but he's going to ruin his marriage over this! Over me?"

Looking suddenly alarmed, Remus hopped off his stool and frowned. "I honestly don't think that's what he wants Harry."

"It has to be. He's ruining his life. Over me!"

"Yes, you already said that." Remus shook his head. "Are you really that naive?"

Harry raised his hands in a helpless shrug. "If it's not sex, then what is it? I know it's not money!"

Remus walked over to him and took the broom. "You really are serious."

"You tell me, Remus. I don't understand any of it."

He opened his mouth to answer and maybe knock a bit of sense into his employee, when the bell above the door ingled and they both turned. A black-haired man in a worn leather jacket entered, his posture composed and confident. A smile made his intense blue eyes light up when he saw Remus and he trotted over to where they were standing.

"Sirius Black!" Remus grinned. "You never cease to amaze me."

The newcomer smiled and pulled Remus into an embrace. "How are you, Remus? Thought it was about time I came for a visit."

"Dung says you've been helping him out, but wouldn't elaborate on what exactly you were helping him with."

"A little bit of this. A little bit of that." Sirius smiled, then caught sight of Harry. "Who's the kid?"

Harry stepped forward and shook the man's and. "Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you."

"Sirius Black." He wiggled his eyebrows at Remus. "Where'd you get this one, Remus? He's stunning. Bit young for you, though…"

Remus punched him in the shoulder and laughed. "Harry works here. And he is seeing Mr. Malfoy."

"As friends, of course," Harry provided.

Sirius' eyes twinkled. "Of course."

"And besides," Harry said with a sharp look at Remus, "Remus is dating someone, though."

Sirius looked surprised, and then jubilant. "You dog! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well-" Remus was interrupted when the phone rang. He sighed. "I'll be right back."

He left the two to talk and cringed when he heard Harry talk about him having 'stars in his eyes' whenever Severus was around. Remus wasn't worried that Sirius would have a problem with him dating. He'd given up counting how many times his ex had urged him to see other people. The only thing Remus was really worried about was how Sirius and Severus would get along. Severus' dry sarcasm required a specific taste, and Sirius was known for not handling snobbishness well.

Remus stepped over a potted Begonia and reached for the phone. He turned his back to his two companions. Sirius and Harry were getting along famously.

"You'll like Snape," Harry said mischievously, "he's good for Remus – oh, er, sorry."

Sirius shrugged. "I just want the guy to be happy, but he seems to love living in his own misery."

They both laughed.

"Who doesn't? If Snape is what you get as an alternative…" Harry slapped a hand against his forehead. "That was mean."

"Wonder if it's true," Sirius said. "Remus- Hey, what's the matter?"

Remus came walking towards them, a peculiar expression on his face, and Harry and Sirius exchanged a concerned glance when he looked at them with worried eyes.

"Dennis is in the hospital."


	16. On Trust

The white walls of the bustling hospital were disconcerting to Remus. He passed a man sitting in a wheelchair looking pained, bandaged and bruised, and tried not to feel too upset that his friend was in such a depressing place. He gave a moment to thank whoever was listening that he was whole and healthy. Judging by the look on Harry's face, he wasn't too comfortable, either.

They had not hesitated to visit Dennis at all, and as soon as Mrs. Sprout had arrived at the Fleur-De-Lis they had immediately left. The hospital wasn't far, but it seemed to take ages to get there. Nobody saw fit to say anything on the way.

Sirius had offered to watch the shop and let Remus go with a comforting pat on the shoulder. According to Mrs. Creevey, Dennis had been found by a friend just outside the gates of his school. Remus had closed his eyes when she had told him, and now he felt horrible guilt stir in his gut. He had been so wrapped up in his shop, in dating, in his own stupid affairs that he had forgotten about a friend. He cast an insecure glance at Harry, and saw the same guilt there as well.

They walked up to the information desk and asked for Dennis' room number. The Nurse briefly called Mrs. Creevey for clearance, and then they were on their way upstairs in an elevator. Remus fiddled nervously with his jacket, watching the lights as they moved up each floor. He played with his zipper, silently berating himself over and over, until a weight on his hand made him look up. Harry gave him a small, stiff smile, and somehow that soothed him enough to calm down.

He couldn't help but think that had he been more available to Dennis, Dennis would have come to him for help. Remus had known deep down inside that the problem wasn't resolved but had gotten so entangled in the confusion of his own life that his young friend's problems were pushed aside. He felt so bad - so bad - for letting Dennis down.

Remus silently hoped that Harry wouldn't take his own remorse too far, considering it was hardly his responsibility to take care of Remus' employees.

But they're friends. And the voice in his head, the one that had chided him so long ago for being alone, was suddenly back. We're all friends.

Startled by the revelation, Remus felt Harry push him gently out of the elevator. White tiles passed underneath his feet as they walked, and Remus nervously fingered the car keys in his pocket. Beside him, holding a small purse and sporting a rather large hat, trotted Mrs. Sprout. Her eyebrows were scrunched in worry and anxiety for Dennis.

We're all in it together, he thought and cast a glance at Harry. And even if some things are left unknown, we're all here to back each other up.

He wondered when he had gone from untrusting and cautiously pleasant to sincere and completely satisfied with the world. Considering Severus' sardonic way of viewing life, he highly doubted it was his new lover's influence. Rather than that, it was the combination of people in his life. His own good friends working at the Fleur-De-Lis, the quarreling lovers upstairs, and his too-good-to-be-true conquest Severus Snape. Suddenly filled with gratitude, Remus smiled at Harry and Mrs. Sprout and opened the door to Dennis' hospital room.

Briefly shocked by the stark white of the bed and the walls, Remus stepped inside, only to be greeted by a tearful Mrs. Creevey. She had red spots on her cheeks from crying and mascara ran down her face in a mess of black. He looked past her at the bed she had been sitting by and nearly gasped.

Dennis looked horrible. His face was purpled with bruises, his eye black and swollen, and a cut above his lip looked as if it had been stitched. Remus heard Harry inhale and Mrs. Sprout sniff. He walked forward, Mrs. Creevey following his eyes to her son and bringing up a handkerchief to wipe her tears away. Upon closer look, Remus could see pasty bandages around Dennis' arm, and a cast around his ankle.

"The doctors said he would be alright," hiccuped Mrs. Creevey. "They're letting him leave tomorrow."

Remus didn't say anything, afraid he would not be able to contain his temper. Where were you when your son needed you? How long did it take before you realized he hadn't come home?

"They... the doctors... they thought Dennis' father had-" Mrs. Creevey began, but it seemed too horrifying to say and she fell silent.

"Where is Mr. Creevey, by the way?" asked Mrs. Sprout, barely able to mask her disgust.

"At the factory. He was by earlier, but he had to leave."

Mrs. Sprout clicked her tongue and walked over to Dennis' bed, sat down in Mrs. Creevey's unoccupied chair and took his hand.

"Are you planning on staying with him?" Remus asked, suddenly worried that Dennis' mother would find a previously planned engagement as well. He would not handle Dennis being alone, and as he gazed at his sleeping friend, he tried to hold in his rising anger.

"Of course I am!" Mrs. Creevey suddenly snapped. "He's my son, and he's hurt..."

"You'd do well to remember he's your son from time to time!"

Remus knew it was a horrible thing to say, especially to a mother who feared for her child, but her strange obliviousness to her son's needs made Remus crackle with ire. A hand on his shoulder affirmed that he had gone too far, and he looked away and into Harry's comforting green eyes.

"How dare you! He's my son, not yours, Mr. Lupin, and I'll have you know-"

Harry interrupted her before she could proceed.

"Remus is only worried for Dennis' safety, as are both Mrs. Sprout and I." His voice was calm although his hand that was on Remus' shoulder shook.

"And who are you," Mrs. Creevey spat, her hands furiously twisting her handkerchief.

Harry tried to smile. "God, I'm so rude. Harry. Harry Potter." He offered his hand for her to shake.

Mrs. Creevey looked from Remus to Harry, then to Harry's outstretched hand, and then back again. She seemed to be analyzing something, her blue beady eyes fixed on Harry's face and his hand on Remus' shoulder. Very suddenly and without much warning, she burst into uncontrolled sobs. Harry's hand fell to his side.

"I'm just trying to do what's best," she sobbed. "His father seems to think Dennis should be able to fight them off, but he's so small..."

"And how long," piped up Mrs. Sprout, "have you known about the bullies at school?"

"A few months, but Dennis kept saying it wasn't bad, and his dad kept telling him he was weak..."

"A few months!" Remus repeated, pushing himself out from under Harry's hand. "You knew? And you didn't help your own son!"

"I've made mistakes..."

"You're an idiot!"

"Remus!"

Remus could barely recognize Harry's warning cry over his own anger. He stared at Dennis' mom in outright horror. The woman continued to twist her handkerchief nervously, her eyes downcast and drooping. She was a very slim woman, with a face that would have been beautiful if it hadn't been for her sharp nose and large ears. She held herself in a way that suggested she'd been terribly hurt by Remus' words, and he managed to calm himself enough to notice that Dennis' eyes were open.

"Hey, Dennis."

Dennis gazed at him uncertainly and Mrs. Sprout squeezed his hand. "How are you feeling?" she asked him kindly.

"Like hell," he said and made to sit up. Mrs. Sprout helped him against the pillows until his groggy eyes were looking at them all a bit more clearly. He brushed his knuckles against his eyelids and yawned.

"Mom? Where did dad go?"

His mother blinked, her nose and face still bright red. "He had to go back to work. He said he'd see you tonight, dear."

"I'm sure," said the teen sarcastically.

"Dennis!" Mrs. Creevey admonished but was cut off when Harry suddenly came forward and pulled up a chair.

Remus was very relieved to see Dennis blush. It was a sure sign that the inescapable angst hadn't quite settled in yet. Harry smiled at him, an affectionate look on his face, and Dennis cautiously smiled back.

"Well-" A bit affronted, Mrs. Creevey tilted her head up. "I'll go see if the nurses can't give you some ice for your face, dear. I'll be right back."

"I'll go with you," Mrs. Sprout suddenly said, standing up. "Perhaps you can guide me to the ladies' room so I may refresh myself."

Remus bit his lip, trying not to laugh as the two women sized each other up. Mrs. Creevey reluctantly nodded and walked out the door, Mrs. Sprout's rather large hat bobbing out after her.

"She'll tear her to pieces. You know that, right?" Harry commented cheerfully, and Remus laughed.

"Well, this will be interesting." He turned his gaze onto Dennis. "How are you, really?"

Dennis shook his head and shrugged. The bruising on his face wasn't that bad, but it clearly hurt him to talk too much. Remus reached out and patted his hand.

"You'll be out of school for a while, now, right?"

Dennis nodded silently, looking at his lap and the white sheets spread over his hospital gown.

"You're welcome to stay at the shop for the week. I'm sure Harry wouldn't mind if you bunked upstairs with him."

Remus stopped himself before he could make a quip about Draco maybe minding and was thankful he did. Everyone, with the exception of Harry, knew about Dennis' little infatuation. While Remus and Mrs. Sprout may have thought it amusing, there was no doubt in his mind that Dennis believed it was truly a very serious thing. Trust teenagers to take a little something and make it huge! But perhaps, Remus thought fondly, that was what he liked best about Dennis.

"Really?" Remus smiled at the excitement in Dennis' eyes. "That would be great."

"We'll have to ask your mom, but I'm sure Mrs. Sprout will have reduced her to mince meat by the time we bring it up."

Harry grimaced. "Ew! Thanks, Remus."

"My pleasure."

"How long have you been a vegan?" asked Dennis shyly. Harry grinned.

"Ever since I could remember. My mom and dad were vegetarians."

"Just vegetarians?" Remus said, faking shock. "You mean they drank milk? From a cow?"

"You sound like Malfoy," Harry said dryly.

Grinning, Remus turned back to Dennis a bit more brightly. He remembered clearly a time when Harry had said the name Malfoy with venom and spite. He wondered how long it would take for Dennis to figure out that those two were "dating" and his smile faded a bit. No doubt the teen would be crushed and then they'd have a more serious issue than before. Remus hoped Dennis wouldn't lose his trust in Remus and that he would forgive Harry for being clueless.

That brought him back to his thoughts earlier that day, when Harry had told him all about Draco and their supposed date. Harry, who honestly wouldn't be able to find his head if it were screwed on, would never realize how much Malfoy was attracted to him. Remus also knew it wasn't just because of his looks, but his frustrating, nail-biting, mysteriously pleasant personality as well. Remus watched Harry talk to Dennis with ease and smiled even wider.

They left an hour later with promises to pick Dennis up on the days he wanted to stay at the shop. Mrs. Creevey had agreed without much fuss once she'd gotten quite the glare from Mrs. Sprout. Her once red cheeks and teary eyes were now dry and wide with alarm. Remus decided he didn't want to know what Mrs. Sprout had said to her.

"What on earth are you doing?"

Mrs. Sprout had emerged from the back of the store, where she had immediately disappeared to after their return from the hospital. Remus had missed some business that afternoon, but not enough to make his customers think he was unreliable. He watched as his old friend brought out strings and strings of twinkle lights. Her horrible hat was gone and she had changed back into her apron.

"Well? It is Christmas!" she trilled. "Might as well put up some decorations, eh?"

She huffed and puffed with the heavy load of Christmas decorations and was about to drop a very heavy box of ornaments when Harry came to the rescue.

"What's all this for?" he asked, holding up a snow angel, grimacing.

"Christmas! Honestly..."

Remus smiled and leaned against the counter. "It's in a week and a half, Mrs. Sprout."

The boxes were set down by Remus' bags of plant fertilizer, and she straightened up and glanced at him indignantly.

"Men! They have no concept of when to start with the Christmas cheer!"

"I have cheer," Remus said, "I'm just not drunk enough to show it."

Harry laughed. Mrs. Sprout wagged a finger at him, but a smile was already emerging on her face.

"Remus Lupin I have never known you to drink! You stop that sarcasm right now!"

"It's that Snape, he has a bad influence on you," Harry said, chuckling.

Mrs. Sprout launched a gingerbread cookie ornament at Harry's head.

"Ow!"

"Or it could be you!"

Remus and Harry watched her work, a little miffed at having to put up lights when Christmas was still a while away, but she didn't mind explaining the fundamentals of decorations to the two men. When she mentioned that Dennis might appreciate it, they both shut up and got to work, their minds on their friend in the hospital.

Blaise looked at Draco in absolute shock. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, and a cigarette dangled out of his mouth. He didn't pay any attention to the traffic light that had just turned green or to the fact that three or four cars were honking behind him.

"You didn't even fuck?" he blurted out.

"Blaise!" Draco growled and made a sound in the back of his throat. "God, just shut up. And would you go? The light's green!"

"Oh!" Blaise looked ahead just as the person in the car behind him held down on their horn. Slamming his hands against the wheel, Blaise lunged half of his body out of the open window.

"Alright already!" he shouted. "Fuck!"

He sat back down heavily, threw the cigarette out the window, and stepped on the gas. They shot off through traffic and Draco held onto his seat. "Slow down!"

"Now, where were we!"

"Stop yelling." Draco rolled up his own window to get away from the chill.

Blaise had been absolutely thrilled when Draco had told him about his and Harry's "date". He had wanted to know every single detail, and although Draco liked to consider himself above girlish gossiping, he hadn't been able to stop himself. They were driving back to the loft after a long day at Madison and David. Well, long for Draco, considering Blaise's idea of work was walking around and stealing things off of other people's desks.

"I can't believe-" Blaise said the word 'believe' as if it were a curse word. "That you didn't fuck!"

"Would you stop? It's crude, and we're never crude."

Turning around in his seat, Blaise gave him a bemused glare. "You maybe. Me? I just want you two to shack up already. All this tension is making me want more sex than usual."

"Is that even possible?" Draco asked laconically.

"Hey, my libido is my libido."

They turned down another street and Blaise swerved to pass a slow moving taxi. Draco didn't bother to admonish him for not using his blinker and sat back in his seat; annoyed.

"I don't get this 'just friends' thing. I mean, can't you be friends and still have sex?"

Draco shook his head, completely frazzled. "I'm engaged. He's... well, unstable. And many more other things that are equally as frustrating as they are attractive."

Blaise smirked. "I think you forgot to mention that you're also a rich, arrogant, spoiled-"

"Okay!" Draco huffed, cutting him off.

"What are you going to do about tonight?" Blaise asked suddenly.

Draco had been trying all day to not think about the dinner he was supposed to have with Pansy and her mother. Without a doubt, it would be awkward between the three of them. He was making it awkward for himself, of course, because of his own rather intense dislike of Pansy and her mom. He was no longer under the delusion that he was marrying Pansy because he liked her, although his loyalty to his father would not let him act upon his aversion to marriage.

He would have to deal with wedding talk that night. It was, after all, the reason he was taking a few months off from work, and agreeing to deal with Pansy of all people. Which brought him back to the 'why' of the whole matter, and he didn't want to think about the 'why'. It made everything complicated.

"I don't know," he managed to respond sullenly.

Letting out a sardonic laugh, Blaise took a sharp turn and smiled at him. "You better fucking find out. You gonna tell her?"

Alarmed, Draco sat up. "What? No!"

"Don't you think she should know?"

"...No."

"Oh yeah, because you're 'just friends' now, right?"

Precisely, Draco thought he murmured aloud, but it could have just been in his head. He turned to look out the window where the afternoon was dwindling away. He was tired and didn't really know how he was going to be able stay up during dinner that night. Stifling a yawn, Draco unbuckled his seat belt as they pulled up to the loft. He didn't have to leave until about nine and figured he wouldn't be back until after midnight; what with Pansy blabbering on about the wedding and all.

"You all right?" Blaise asked him as he dragged himself out of his seat. They had stopped in the middle of the road again, and Draco gave the car honking behind them a weary glance. He nodded sharply.

"Fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

Blaise nodded, looking at his window for a moment before smiling. "You'll be sure to tell me if you guys do it, right?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Sure, Blaise."

"Good, because even if I don't want details-" The honking finally got to him and he turned around in his seat to yell out of the window again. Draco shook his head and walked into the shop.

He closed the door and shivered. For the past few days, it had steadily grown cloudier and colder. Draco had it in mind that he would need a new scarf for when the snow started and smiled at the vision of a white Christmas. He was soon blinded by bright lights and ornaments the moment he walked inside. Draco looked at the colorful bulbs strung around the room and cursed.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Mrs. Sprout said, coming out from behind the counter. She gave a dreamy sigh and continued hanging candy canes. "Don't you just love Christmas?"

Not knowing what else to say, Draco merely grunted. "Yeah, sure."

"Harry's upstairs, if you're looking for him." She managed to get herself tangled in a thread of tinsel.

"Er, no," he said, slightly alarmed that she would think he wanted to see Harry. "I have to change."

Draco quickly strutted up the stairs, careful not to look back.

When he reached the loft, he entered rather cautiously, bearing in mind the last time he made the mistake of getting in Harry's line of fire with a paint brush. Surprisingly, Harry was not painting and the canvas he'd been working on before was now wrapped up and set aside in a corner. Harry was sitting on the couch, reading a book, apparently oblivious to Draco's presence. Draco shut the door soundly and his roommate looked up.

They nodded at each other. Draco took his coat off and sighed, wanting nothing more than to crawl into his bed and not wake up until the next morning. He couldn't sleep though, and that was miffing him. He went to the refrigerator and looked inside, hoping without hope that he would find something to eat in there. They still needed to go grocery shopping.

Despite his resentment over the reason he was taking time off, he was able to admit that he really needed a vacation. He'd worked so long and so hard that his sick-leave and vacation hours had simply piled up. Even though his dad owned the company, Draco got the same pay and bonuses as every other employee at Madison and David. Contrary to media speculation and the general public's stereotype, he did in fact work and was not in anyway treated special.

He opened a bag of fruit and took out an apple, smirking very briefly at Harry who hardly noticed. Draco got out one of the very few knives they had and started cutting it into slices.

The loft was looking as clean as usual and Draco briefly paused in his eating to think. He guessed that Harry had been the one keeping up with the cleaning, and he jerked a moment at that sudden thought. It looked like Harry was just as anal about having things neat as Draco was. The words came unbidden in his head: I could live with that... in a much more intimate way, his mind spoke to him. Draco shook his head hastily.

He was hours away from meeting with his fiancée and he was thinking about someone else. Someone he would very much like to love. Love? His eyes wandered back to Harry and he swallowed the bit of apple stuck in the back of his throat. Yes, he was sure, someone he could love... and Pansy was decidedly not that. He very nearly groaned. What am I going to do?

Draco set down the half eaten apple and filled a glass with water. He walked over to where Harry was sitting and plopped down beside him. Harry looked up curiously, his eyes shifting to where the apple sat on the counter. Draco was sure that if Harry had cat ears, they would have been twitching in that direction.

"Are you going to eat that?"

He shook his head no and watched as Harry got up and snatched the fruit. He began munching on it, making that sound that Draco detested. He walked lazily over to the couch and resumed reading while Draco closed his eyes and moaned.

"Do you have to eat it that way?"

Harry glanced up at him from his book, his eyes wide and amused. "How else do you eat an apple?"

Draco snatched the piece of apple from him and took a silent bite. He made sure to chew without a noise and to swallow almost unnoticeably. Harry watched him closely.

"Like that," he said after he'd swallowed. "You don't have to make noise."

Harry shrugged and took another noisy bite. "I wasn't aware I was making noise."

"Well, you were."

"Sorry."

Harry resumed reading his book, not altering his eating habits in any way and ignoring Draco easily. Draco stared at his shoes he'd crossed one over the other on the table. He stretched his neck and bit back a yawn. How on earth was he going to survive the night?

Harry suddenly looked up from his novel. "Did Remus tell you about Dennis?"

"No. What about him?"

Draco wasn't too fond of the little twerp, and it was obvious to anyone who wasn't blind that the kid had a crush on Harry. Yeah, well, who doesn't?

"He's in the hospital."

"What? Why?"

Harry sighed, setting his book face down and looking away. He put his the apple core on top of it and looked at his hands. "Some kids at his school beat him up pretty badly. It's been going on for a while now, but they really did a number on him this time. They just left him in the street."

Surprised and uncommonly concerned, Draco frowned. "What's the matter with him?"

"He was beaten up. Can't you imagine he'd be in bad shape?"

Draco didn't understand why Harry was suddenly angry with him, and he sighed. Though it was shocking to hear that someone he knew was getting bullied, he did think that Dennis would be a prime target, considering how small and skinny he was. He didn't realize Harry was speaking until his roommate's voice rose up a notch.

"His parents knew! They knew that he was getting hurt and didn't do anything. Remus and I have known about it for a while, but we thought it was over. We thought Mrs. Creevey had talked to Dennis' principal. She's an idiot." He jumped to his feet and threw the apple into the trash. "Remus was right, she's a complete and total idiot!"

Slightly alarmed at Harry's anger, Draco raised his eyebrows and simply watched.

"I know what it's like to be bullied, to be hurt! Dennis doesn't deserve that. We should have been there for him... every one of us."

Draco was suddenly upset to see Harry upset. Harry had an odd intensity in his face. It wasn't exactly the same look that he had while he was painting, but it was close. Draco bit his lip and looked down at his lap. He wanted to make this better, and was very startled to realize he sincerely wanted Harry to be happy... or something. Anything but the desperate, haunted stupor he was in now. He cleared his throat.

"Would you like to go have coffee with me?"

Harry stopped mid-rant. "What?"

"Can we talk? Over coffee? I need some caffeine."

Opening and closing his mouth, Harry looked away for a moment before nodding.

"Alright."

Draco smiled. "Good. Get your coat."

Though Draco's proposition was just as abrupt as Harry's tirade about Dennis, Harry didn't seem to mind the interruption all that much. They walked down the stairs, into the empty shop and out into the twilight. It was cold and getting colder still as they strolled companionably in the winter chill. Draco tried not to look at his roommate too much, but the red of Harry's cheeks and his unruly hair were more attractive then he would have liked to admit.

Harry was so beautiful, and Draco thought he felt everyone staring at him as they passed. Harry had wrapped a thin scarf around his neck and still bore that deeply focused expression on his face. He was dressed in his black jacket, the one with the holes, and his jeans, also with holes, as well as his standard shoes. He seemed as disheveled as always, but with a sweeter touch this time. Maybe, Draco thought, it was because he no longer thought Harry a simple bohemian who was unworthy of his affection. He was rather fond of him now.

Although no matter what, Harry would still be annoying.

They reached the coffee shop and decided without fighting that they would sit outside. It was cold but still nice enough that they could have a coffee and warm up. Draco ordered his black, and got soy cream and sugar for Harry. The gesture made Harry smile at him. Harry pulled out a chair for him to sit in, and he set their drinks down.

Draco could see his breath in the air as he took a sip and let the hot liquid burn his mouth. It settled in his stomach with a pleasant warmth and he smirked.

"I'm sure Dennis will be fine." He hoped it sounded consoling and thought it rather did by the surprised and grateful look on Harry's face.

"I hope so as well."

Harry wrapped his palms around his cup and furrowed his brows. "I'm going to do something about this," he suddenly said. "I think I have to."

Draco laughed. "Are you going to take on those bullies like some hero?"

Knowing Draco's amusement wasn't mocking, Harry smiled. "Something like that."

"No, really, what are you going to do?" Concerned now, Draco glared at him. "Don't do anything stupid!"

"Honestly, Draco, what's gotten into you? I'm just going to talk to the principal."

Relieved, though he didn't say so, Draco nodded all-knowingly. "So you're going to use your powers of persuasion."

Harry's cheeks dimpled. "That I am," he took a slow drink. "I thought you had somewhere to be tonight?"

"This is where I want to be," Draco said, without really thinking about it. "But... I am supposed to go to dinner with Pansy and her mom tonight..."

"And you decided to have coffee with me? Why?"

Draco smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Can't two friends have a drink together? Talk, maybe?"

Harry looked down at his coffee and frowned. "Talk? About what?"

"Well, I don't know," Draco said unhelpfully. "We were doing okay with the question-and-answer before."

Making a noncommittal noise in his throat, Harry sat forward and took another sip. Draco watched him, fascinated with his movements which were as tentative as a child's. He licked his dry lips and looked around. Only a few people had decided to sit outside and were chatting amiably amongst themselves. The inside of the café was small and cozy, but Draco preferred the cold. He should have thought that maybe Harry would have been uncomfortable, and cursed himself as his companion warmed his fingers against the steaming cup before him.

"So, why the lightning bolt?"

It was the first thing that had popped into his mind and he went with it. Harry however, seemed to be slightly alarmed.

"What?"

"In your paintings," Draco clarified. "You always have a lightning bolt."

Harry was still a bit taken aback, but nodded. "I remember, Wood told you about it."

"He said no one knew why you did it." Draco smiled. He wanted to know. He would know, before anyone else, and laugh in Harry's ignorant friend's faces.

"What makes you think I'm going to tell you then?" Harry grinned mischievously.

"Because you like me."

The man before him blushed; somewhat uncommonly bashful. He looked down at his hands, anywhere besides Draco, and swallowed audibly. His hair tousled around a bit in the cool night air and they were momentarily distracted when an employee of the café came out to light the heater above Harry's head. Then, abruptly, Harry decided to speak.

"I used to play soccer when I was little," he said, "and the team called me lightning, because I was really fast." A fond smile appeared on Harry's face and he glanced away from Draco. "I always put it into my paintings because I miss playing."

"Why don't you sign up for a local team? We have tons of guys at the office that play..."

"Honestly, Draco, can you see me playing soccer with the guys from your office?"

No. Draco found that he really couldn't see that happening. Perhaps it was the one place that Harry truly didn't belong. He took a rather large draft of his coffee and shook his head.

"I can't."

"Plus I move around so much that I doubt I could really get a few good games in. I do miss it, though."

Suddenly aware that their mood had turned melancholy, Draco tried to redeem himself. "Well, it's not like you need the exercise. Everyone can see that you look great."

The blush was back again and Draco silently cheered himself. Harry shifted his lovely eyes, biting on his bottom lip and sighing.

"I thought you said I looked like a homeless beggar and that I smelled..."

"You don't smell." Draco raised a calming hand, then corrected himself with a humorously hesitant nod. "Not anymore."

Harry laughed. He smiled and raised his eyebrows at Draco. "Was that Blaise I heard yelling outside this afternoon?"

"Probably. He seems to think that traffic laws don't apply to him. He's nuts, I swear, he's absolutely mad."

"I haven't met his girlfriend yet... what was her name?"

"Hermione Granger," Draco provided. "She's absolutely insufferable. Thinks she knows everything."

Harry gave him a look over his cup. "Don't we all?"

They finished their coffee and dumped the cups into the recycle bin. Had Draco been alone, he wouldn't have cared, but Harry had pointedly dropped his in the green basket and Draco figured he had better do so as well. Still talking, they walked down the street just as the moon had risen in the sky. Draco pulled his jacket closer and suddenly caught Harry trying to wrap his own hands in his sleeves.

"Are your hands cold?"

Harry nodded reluctantly and held them out for inspection. Draco noticed that he had very nice fingers, finely shaped and elegant. He managed to shake himself out of that thought, blushing, and took off one of his gloves.

"You only have one pair," Harry said unnecessarily.

"I know."

He slipped one glove onto Harry's right hand, leaving the other bare, and suddenly grabbed Harry's naked hand with his. "My hands are warm."

Harry turned bright red but smiled down at their entwined fingers. "They are. Thanks."

Cars drove by as they walked silently, the lovely evening calming down with the promise of snow heavy in the air. Draco pushed his hair back behind his ear; tempted to smile at the canopy of stars above him. He felt so different, and he didn't know why.


	17. Christmas

"Severus."

The voice came from somewhere close by.

In the foggy haze of sleep, his mind could barely process the fact that Remus was calling him; though he was usually a light sleeper. The air was cold around him, but he was warm beneath the large white comforter. Remus called him again, and his head suddenly cleared enough for him to turn over.

Light from the open doorway told him that the draft was coming from the shop. Remus' outline was alight from the abnormal brightness coming from outside. He sat up a bit, pushing away a strand of hair and blinking. Once he was more awake, he processed that Remus was in old trousers and a long shirt; gazing out of the window. A small smile worked its way onto his tired face, before annoyance settled in.

"What? What is it..." he murmured, not particularly liking the idea of getting up and into the cold. Remus turned around with a large grin, his hair fallen out from his tie, and gestured out into the shop.

"It's snowing." He looked back. "It's really nice, you should come see."

Severus felt a sudden burst of affection for Remus, and even decided to get up as well. His feet were cold on the ground, but he was comfortable as he stood beside Remus overlooking the snow. It had already covered a few cars in the front of the building, and barely touched the sidewalk outside. A very thin frost gathered on the windows, and crawled around the edges of the front door. Though he could hardly see it, tiny speckles dropped from the sky, and dotted the dark night with a bright white.

Remus smiled at him, content, and he raised an eyebrow. "I knew you were a romantic, Lupin, but this is simply ridiculous."

Laughing softly, Remus stepped a little closer to him. "I like the snow." He said defensively, but with a grin.

His face was lightened as he watched the snow fall, and Severus unexpectedly realized how lovely Remus was. And suddenly, he found himself smiling along with his companion.

"What time is it?"

Remus made a half turn towards his night stand, looking at the clock that flashed three forty-five in bright red letters. Severus followed his gaze and then leveled Remus with a glare.

"Three o'clock in the morning," he shook his head very slightly.

Rather than seeming ashamed of waking Severus up, Remus' eyes sparkled fondly at him in the glow from the night sky. Severus had trouble seeing fault in that look, and he repressed his natural instinct to smile back. His lips did, however, curl into a smirk that could be mistaken for one.

"Let's go back to bed then," Remus recommended placidly. "It's cold."

They padded over to the mattress and Severus enclosed his entire body underneath the comforter. Remus did likewise but turned his head to continue to watch the snow.

"I hate Christmas," Severus suddenly said, though it was muffled because his back was turned.

Remus looked at him curiously. "Though I know it fits your disposition exceedingly well, would you mind gracing me with an explanation?"

"My disposition, hmm?" Severus let the blankets fall so he could look at Remus properly. "Christmas is just an excuse to waste money and spend time with people you don't like."

Remus laughed softly. "Like me, then, Severus?"

"I'm here right now, aren't I?" he responded a bit waspishly. "Besides," in a softer tone, "the official Christmas flower is a poinsettia. A poinsettia."

"You hate Christmas because of the Euphorbia pulcherrima," Remus said, bemused.

"It is much too early for Latin superlatives, thank you."

"Yes, but, Severus..." Remus shrugged in humorous amazement. "It's just a flower."

His companion suddenly turned completely around, with an expression of absolute disbelief. His countenance was so comically out of character that Remus couldn't help but laugh. In return, Severus turned extremely serious.

"The botanist reveals his true merit," he said. "I have in mind to think you're not a botanist at all, Lupin. Rather, a fraud."

Remus plopped back onto his pillows with an animated sigh. "A fraud am I?"

"Verily." Severus turned back over, but not before saying under his breath, "And one that sympathizes with poinsettia."

Remus listened as the man beside him settled back down. Remus thought that maybe he should get some more sleep, but couldn't help but gaze outside longingly. He suddenly had a rather worldly thought; he wondered if anyone else was watching the same snow fall, and whether they loved it as much as he did.

Severus, ostensibly sensing his thoughts, mumbled, "Do get some sleep, and stop romanticizing about the snow. It happens every year."

"So does Christmas, and every year, I love it." Remus laid down beside him, however, and draped an arm across his back.

Remus, whom everyone considered more than a little insane on Christmas, actually enjoyed the season even with its crowded department stores, disgusting holiday cheer, and over abundance of red and green. He was almost as fond of it as Mrs. Sprout, who seemed deeply passionate about any sort of celebration.

Speaking of which... "You know, Severus," Remus whispered. "Mrs. Sprout usually orders dozens of lovely poinsettia for Christmas. I'm sure she wouldn't mind wrapping one up for you..."

The only response he received was a heavy groan and indiscernible cursing. Remus turned over and laughed.

Christmas Eve morning blossomed into a rather cold day. The shop was still, however, bustling with customers buying center pieces and last minute spider plants. The poinsettia, as Remus had predicted, had shown up later on that week and had nearly sold out. Red and green plants were seen glistening outside of the shop's windows, and when Severus had come over, he had seen them and then walked away rather quickly. Remus observed the day with a gleeful humor.

He had invited a number of guests for a small get-together that night. Remus took particular pleasure in having a party at his place every year, and all who knew him knew that without fail, there was a gathering at Fleur-De-Lis on Christmas Eve.

Remus had shopped earlier that week, and had braved the grocers with admirable endurance. Harry had accompanied him, as well as Dennis, and though he appreciated the company, Harry himself couldn't help but get into trouble. He swore he only left them alone for a few moments. He came upon their scene of disaster with cranberries scattered about the floor, and Harry being pushed by Dennis in the cart and looking particularly guilty. Needless to say, they had gone to the next available store.

Dennis had come over days before, all patched up in medical tape and in high spirits. So far, his stay in the loft went relatively unnoticed, and he and Harry hung out a lot more than before. Remus saw a certain level of trust Dennis had in Harry, that he himself didn't have as a sort of parental figure. Dennis admired Harry, it was plain to see, though with a healthy amount of equality. They got on fine, though Draco Malfoy wasn't exactly happy about it.

Remus had watched the change in Draco just as Severus had, and they both had voiced their astonishment. It seemed as if a Malfoy could have a sweet temper and a steady patience. Draco was trying his best to be pleasant on all accounts, and had even helped Remus move a potted Orchid at the expense of his valuable Armani. But only because Harry was watching.

He knew, just knew, that something had happened between the two of them. He got his answer one morning when Harry was putting up more lights and had told him about the unexpected kiss. Ever since then, Harry had said a bit dreamily, Draco had been polite, uncomplaining, and rather pleasant. Harry had completely dodged his question about having a relationship, and Remus hoped Harry wouldn't do anything stupid to make Draco go back to being a snob.

But Christmas for Remus wasn't lonely or uneventful now, and he had Severus, Draco, Harry and everyone in the general area to thank for it. Just to get his spirit for the holiday pumping, Christmas Eve started with a rather loud and pointless fight. Remus was in such a good mood he could only laugh.

"I told you he called, but you weren't listening to me!" Harry was shouting.

"He was an important client! I would have known if you had said something!"

Draco and Harry's voices carried down the stair from the loft, and soon Remus was greeted with the sight of a scruffy but adorable looking Harry, and a posh-as-ever Draco.

"It's not my fault your head is stuck up your..."

"You didn't write it down!" Draco interrupted him, almost tripping on a stray piece of tinsel.

"I did too!" and Harry looked sheepish. "I just painted over it, that's all..."

Recently, they had purchased a phone so that Draco could make some of his business transactions at home. Harry had protested, albeit without much hope, that they reconsider and had even gone into a long tirade about penning letters...and Morse code.

Remus sat behind his counter, stringing popcorn lanyards with Dennis. He watched them fondly.

Harry looked to be on the defensive, his sweater scrunched and paint stained, his jeans tattered, and his feet bare. He was very attractive standing next to the tiny plastic Christmas tree (a bit of a joke among friends) that he, Dennis, and Mrs. Sprout had gotten for Remus. Draco seemed to recognize Harry's pull as well, seeing as there was a flush on his cheeks. He, however, was dressed in well-pressed slacks and a silver pullover. He had a black coat slung over his arm, and his shoes were shiny with polish.

"Where you off to, Draco?" Dennis asked, interrupting them. Remus strung another popcorn and hid a smile.

Draco flushed and glanced at him. "Christmas luncheon, at the Plaza."

"Ooh, at the Plaza," mocked Harry.

The action was so childish that Remus couldn't help but laugh. Draco glared at Remus for half a second before turning back to his roommate with renewed anger. He was rather imposing with his blond hair neat and slicked back. Not to mention is deep silver eyes...that were glaring. Glaring. Remus wished he'd stop...

"I told you to write it down somewhere I would see it. Not paint it onto something."

Dennis grinned cheerfully. "Is this like one of those marriage arguments when the guy uses the eyeliner to write down the score of the Yankee game?"

There was a split second silence, before Remus and Harry cracked up. Draco turned his smoldering gaze onto Dennis.

"We're not married!" he protested over the laughter. "And he's the genius who decided to paint a phone number on his painting..."

"I didn't have a pen..."

"...And then paint over it again!"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Harry suddenly said, holding up both hands and calling for silence. "I'm sorry okay?" he gave Draco a mischievous smirk. "If he calls again...I'll use your lipstick."

"That was a gay joke, wasn't it?" Dennis whispered to Remus. Remus grabbed another lanyard string and shook his head.

"Draco's bisexual."

"...you keep leaving things around, it's not wonder you couldn't find a fucking pen." Draco was yelling.

"Oh," said Dennis, and then he shrugged a shoulder. "I don't get it."

Remus glanced at Harry and then turned back to Dennis and muttered, "He's not, really. Blaise says he swings for one team. Draco just likes saying 'bisexual'."

"Calm down."

Turning at Harry's tone, Remus grinned. Draco hated it when Harry said 'calm down' like he was dealing with a rabid animal. The fight just got more interesting.

"Don't tell me to calm down!"

"Calm Down."

"So can I say I'm bisexual? I like how that sounds as well," Dennis asked. Remus watched him string the popcorn carefully for a moment. Dennis had small hands, and from the way he was slouched...he seemed tiny sitting there next to him.

"You can if you like," Remus said offhandedly. "Just not in front of Blaise or Harry. They don't care for the term."

"Why?"

"Mostly because it's like being half of what you are...and that means being still attracted to women."

"That's okay though," protested Dennis. "Some women are nice."

"Yes well, I'd have to get past the large squishy appendages first, before I seriously considered even taking her for coffee." Remus suddenly laughed. "Here, this can be better explained."

He turned toward Dennis completely, and made as if to tell a very long, very interesting story. "Bisexuals, according to Blaise and Harry, are late comers...like people who jump on a bandwagon because taking from either side means more sex."

"Sounds good to me..."

"Yes, sure...but then you get people like Blaise and Harry. People who will trip you while you're carrying nacho's down the isle of a movie theater, just because they think it's funny."

Dennis' eyebrows disappeared. "They would do that?"

Remus thought for a moment. "Maybe not Harry...but Blaise most definitely."

"But what does that have to do with being bisexual?"

They were silent. Remus bit his lip, and then shook his head. "Nothing."

Draco suddenly lifted up a pair of rose clippers from Remus' flower rack.

"Shut up, Potter, shut up!"

"Draco...Draco."

Remus and Dennis laughed unmercifully as they fought. Draco, in the end, simply left with a scowl on his face, and then cursed so loudly about the snow that they could hear him from outside.

"Fucking snow!"

Remus congratulated Harry on annoying his roomate so early in the morning, and invited him to make popcorn lanyards. Harry gave one last amused look at the door, before trudging over to sit on the counter. Remus grimaced, but let it slide.

"Where's Mrs. Sprout?" Harry asked, cutting more string.

"Gave her the day off...to visit her family and all that jazz. She's coming over later tonight for the party."

Harry refolded himself neatly to get comfortable and gazed down at the popcorn skeptically. "Isn't she making the food?"

Remus snorted, handing Dennis the scissors. "You expect me to cook? I eat out, that's what we do."

"Yeah," Harry nodded a bit dejectedly. "I've asked Draco a couple times if he wants me to make him something, you know, out of good faith. He thinks I'll poison him."

Dennis raised his eyebrows. "Won't you?"

"No!" he laughed and threw a bit of popcorn at Dennis, but then sighed. "I like cooking."

"Didn't know you could," Remus commented, surprised.

"Yeah, I'm a bit of a 'food art' kind of person. Just don't tell Blaise, or he'll be hounding me for tacos every time I see him."

Snickering, Dennis set another finished lanyard in the bowl. "Add that to everyone's question of, 'when you're going to shack up with Draco'."

There was a sudden silence in the room. Remus found whatever words he had planned to say next, stuck in his throat. Harry's face, though priceless, was alive with shock and a startling red blush. Remus imagined his own expression was pretty hilarious as well.

"What?" Dennis said, looking at them. "What?"

"Dennis..." Harry breathed out.

Remus looked at Harry again, having had a sudden epiphany. Why would Harry be so shocked? Everyone who knew Harry and Draco, encouraged them to get together. Had Harry somewhere along the lines caught onto Dennis' unwavering infatuation? Unwavering...Remus thought ironically, looks like Dennis is a lot smarter than we thought.

"I can't believe you...I-you said..." Harry quickly reached out to smack Dennis across the back of the head. "I thought you were on my side! Not you too!"

Dennis laughed. "We need all the help we can get."

"What's that face for?" Harry asked Remus, who started.

He'd looked pretty confused he supposed, and for good reason. He shook his head and smiled. To think, he'd actually thought Harry had caught on to something involving feelings...or emotions. Remus was a bit alarmed by that observation, and took a moment to get a good look at Harry.

Harry had trouble with love, he knew that. He'd heard enough to know that Harry had a fear of commitment, or so Blaise the therapist had diagnosed, and that he had grown up virtually without a family. He could only assume that Harry had never had much besides himself, and that was the most logical reason as to why he was so mysterious.

Remus watched him toss more popcorn at Dennis, and smiled. Outside, the snow continued to fall, and the shop was bathed in twinkling lights and the warm smell of hot cocoa and air conditioned heat.

He wondered about Dennis for a moment, and when exactly the teen had realized that Harry was out of reach...untouchable. It must have been a painful revelation, and Remus' heart clenched in sympathy. Dennis seemed all right though, and Remus supposed that was what counted. He couldn't wait until Dennis opened the present they had all pitched in and got him. Harry had been the leader on that one.

The bell jingled over the shop door, and Remus turned to greet the newcomer. It wasn't anyone he knew, but he smiled anyway.

"Can I help you?"

He was a tall and wiry looking guy, with tufts of sandy hair and pale blue eyes. He had a faded jean jacket on, and jeans that looked done in. Skinny, with rings underneath his eyes, he turned to Remus' voice and grinned in a way that made Remus' skin crawl unpleasantly.

"Oi..."

But before the guy could say anything else, there came a strangled, "Eh..." from behind them. Remus turned to see Harry looking shocked, and oddly enough, angry.

"What are you doing here?" Harry snapped at the man.

Remus had never heard Harry use that tone of voice with anyone. Not even Draco. He and Dennis watched curiously.

The guy spread both arms wide and grinned that grin again. "What? No Merry Christmas? No hug to say hello?"

Harry swung himself off the counter, still barefoot, and slipped on his shoes from beside Remus' chair. Remus watched him mutter angrily and make for the guy. He grabbed his elbow and steered him toward the door.

"Aren't you going to introduce us, Harry?" the guy was saying, and shuffled out of Harry's grasp. He walked over to them lazily, his pale eyes glinting.

"I'm Seamus Finnigan, it's a pleasure to meet-hey!"

Harry had attempted to move Seamus away from them again. Remus and Dennis still observed, now fascinated.

"It's almost like you're ashamed of me, Harry? What's all this, can't introduce your good-as brother to your new family?" Seamus turned back to them, smiling. "He's told me all about you all."

"That's enough Seamus, what the hell are you doing here?"

Seamus made a show of brushing off his jacket and looking affronted. "I haven't seen you in a bit, and you usually make time for me...thought I'd drop by and wish you a Merry Christmas."

Harry shook his head. "Let's go outside."

But Seamus wasn't paying attention. He was going through the bowl of popcorn and chomping on them, throwing ones he didn't like over his shoulder. All of which managed to hit Harry.

"Those aren't for eating." Remus explained placidly.

Seamus looked back down at the bowl and grimaced.

"Outside. Seamus, come on..." Harry urged.

The guy didn't seem to be moving, however, and Harry gave a frustrated groan. Seamus turned back to him and nodded. "Buy me a burger and we'll call it even."

"I am not buying you processed cow."

Seamus grinned. "Non-processed then."

Remus watched their interaction. Seamus' personality was a bit like Blaise's...though decidedly more unnerving. While Blaise was funny and ridiculously charming, this man, Seamus, had a dangerous and unwelcome air about him. Remus suddenly wanted him out of his shop.

"Take it outside boys'," and his aversion to Seamus overrode his curiosity.

"Harry's a Vegan, you know." Seamus said casually, still picking through the bowl. Harry dragged him away. "You buying me that burger, then?"

"You have your own money..."

Their walk to the door was suddenly stopped when Seamus pulled away from Harry and looked at him. Remus could tell, even from his view of only Seamus' backside, that the man's stature had completely changed. He was serious, and a bit guilty.

"You see, about that..."

Harry looked furious. "No! No...no...no..."

"It was just one time, but it was enough...well, you know."

"I can't believe you!" Harry then started to drag him outside again, and this time, Seamus didn't fight it. The door closed behind them, and Remus and Dennis could see them standing out in the snow having a rather heated conversation. Harry's bright eyes sought his from the outside, and Remus turned his gaze away.

"We need more popcorn," he mentioned to Dennis, who was watching Harry and Seamus without shame.

"Wonder what's happening..." Dennis murmured, and then louder, "Wonder what he did."

Remus blocked his view, picking up the popcorn bowl and scowling at him playfully. "It's none of our business.."

Dennis followed his retreating back with his eyes, twirling his chair around. "Oh, come on. Tell me you're not going to tell Draco and Blaise exactly what happened just now. None of our business, really now..."

Grinning at him, Remus popped into the back to make more popcorn, and get the hot chocolate going again. He heard the jingle of the bell and figured Harry had come back in. He shook his head into the mug of cocoa he was stirring. He was definitely telling Blaise and Draco.

"So," Harry was saying when Remus walked back over. Seamus was gone. "I say we make those brown cinnamon cookies...you know, the ones that leave that awful aftertaste in your mouth?"

"Gingerbread?" Dennis provided hopefully. "With sprinkles!"

Harry wacked him over the head with a popcorn lanyard. "How old are you? Sprinkles..."

The day went a lot like that until around early evening. Mrs. Sprout arrived with platters of food and treats, while Remus got the drinks ready. It got colder, and the shop more cozy, and soon the happy feeling of excited contentment settled within them. Remus had thought that Harry would be a bit nervous being around people he'd either only met briefly, or not at all. He seemed fine, if only a little distracted.

The first people to show up were the Weasley's, and only a few of their children: Ginny, Charlie, Fred, and Neville, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's son-in-law. They were all introduced, and when Harry came out of the back and spotted Neville, there was quite the commotion.

"Neville? Neville Longbottom!" Harry had exclaimed, holding a casserole. He set it down, laughing, and walked over to hug Neville tightly.

"Hey Harry," Neville smiled, equally cheerful. They drew a part from each other, and Remus saw that Harry's eyes were significantly brighter.

"How are you?"

"I'm great," Neville slung an arm around Ginny's shoulder. "Harry...I got married."

"You-got..." he looked from Ginny to Neville and suddenly smiled widely. "That's wonderful! Congratulations!"

Neville smiled at Ginny. Their conversation was interrupted by Mrs. Weasley, who proceeded to coo over Harry and ask repeatedly how he was doing. Harry didn't seem to mind it much, and without any sort of sappy introduction, the party was underway.

Next to show up was Sybil, whom Mrs. Sprout immediately latched onto. The Bell's had arrived right after that, and then Severus. Remus had introduced Severus to anyone who asked (which was pretty much everyone) and they all gave Remus an approving nod when he turned away. Remus thought it was a bit sad he had to get approval from the neighborhood to date.

The Johnson family had shown up with a large, lethal looking salad, and had livened up the party considerably. Severus had made-what could have been taken as insulting- comment about weight capacity, and too many people taking up air, that had left everyone silent for a moment. They all burst out laughing, and Remus tugged on Severus arm affectionately.

Harry seemed to be mingling well. He moved from the kitchen into the shop, setting out cups and things, before he was dragged into an introduction. Remus enjoyed watching the surprised reaction of most of the people who met Harry for the first time. He wanted to tap them on the shoulder and say, yes, he is that attractive.

They played cheesy Christmas songs in the background, and every now and again someone would randomly burst into song. Lee Jordan, a friend of the Weasley's, had shown up. Remus hadn't seen him since he'd been shipped off to college. Remus had helped Lee with a school work, and Lee, much like Dennis, had worked at the shop in the years before graduating.

It was around eleven that Draco and Blaise decided to show up. Blaise had a girl with him, with brown hair and dark brown eyes. She was very pretty, and Remus found he liked her straight away. There had been a ruckus when Draco Malfoy had walked through the door.

Seeing someone frequently mentioned in the tabloids, someone known for their money and notoriety, was very rare for the people Remus knew.

Draco had gone straight over to Harry, however, who had been in a heated debate with Lee Jordan over something or another. Draco grabbed Harry's arm and steered him away from the conversation.

"I was talking to Lee..."

"You crack head, that client never called!"

Draco had said it quite loudly, and immediately everyone had leaned in a bit to hear them. Harry had jumped on the insult, predictably, his eyes flashing.

"Crack head? You're the crack head, I told you he called, I just didn't write it down..."

"Was his name Crouch? Barty?" Draco elaborated.

Harry thought for a moment, "Oh, uh..." and then he looked innocently guilty. "I don't think so, no."

Draco made a sound somewhere in between a groan and a growl and made to retort when singing disrupted his sharp tongue. He turned to see Blaise turning up the stereo and dancing a bit while yelling Jingle Bells out of tune. Hermione, who seemed to be ignoring him, turned back to her conversation with Remus.

"Look," he turned back to Harry. "You get a call from me, you write down the message..."

"Right," Harry nodded affirmative.

"You jot down his name, his number, place of business..."

"That's a lot, couldn't I just ask him to leave a message?"

"No." Draco snapped. Suddenly, his temper cooled. "I know it's not your fault, please though, it was important..."

Harry looked very sincere. "I'm sorry."

They stared at each other for a moment, silent. Blaise suddenly belted out something rude and everyone stared. Draco gave his friend a withering look and motioned for him to get off the table. Blaise was hardly paying attention, though.

"He's had more eggnog then Grandma."

Harry laughed, and looked around. "I'm looking out for reindeer."

Remus, who had long since circulated the room to talk to everyone, was stopped by Angelina Johnson and Lee Jordan. He'd heard Draco and Harry's fight (part two) but had been more distracted with talking to Hermione. That and watching to make sure Blaise didn't fall off that table.

"What's going on with them?" Lee asked, nodding towards the quietly talking Harry and Draco.

Raising an eyebrow, Remus acted innocent. "What do you mean?"

They grinned. Angelina smacked him on the shoulder. "I mean, those two are dead sexy together. And Draco Malfoy is in the same room as me...right now!"

"Don't get too excited," Remus said dryly. "He's not the greatest guy..."

"Harry seems to like him," Angelina objected. "Harry's absolutely gorgeous. Please tell me they're together."

Lee shook his head. "Eloise reads those gossip magazines, she says Malfoy's engaged to Parkinson. You know, that rich girl whose dad ran for Governor or something..."

"I think you're thinking of someone else," said Angelina. "But Parkinson sounds right. Ooh! They're having an affair!"

Remus suddenly grew very serious. "Don't go spreading that stuff around. Harry wouldn't like it."

"Are they together, then?" Lee asked without much enthusiasm, sipping his cider.

"I don't know. They only live in the loft above me."

"You don't hear anything suspicious then? Moaning...banging...cries of passion..."

"Please, Angie," said Lee, making a face.

Remus laughed. "I hear a lot of moaning..." Angelina perked up. "Fighting...yelling...sometimes brief scuffles..."

She sighed sadly. "They are attracted to one another, yeah?"

Refusing to say anything incriminating, Remus shrugged and grinned. Angelina yelled at him as he walked away, "There's still hope!"

At midnight, as was tradition, everyone wished everyone else a Merry Christmas, and the party winded down. Remus presented the gift they'd gotten Dennis to him, and the teen had looked properly excited. When he'd opened it up to a brand new Mac, he'd jumped up and down and gave Harry, Remus, and surprisingly Draco, a hug. Draco had hardly grimaced, and had made a sarcastic comment about getting a car instead.

From Harry, Remus had received a book on basic gardening, a white elephant gift he got almost every year, and two new racks for tools and equipment. They were nicely made, and sincerely put together. Severus had gotten him tickets to the Opera, and something else Remus hadn't taken out of the bag to show everyone.

He'd given Harry a new set of paints, which were received enthusiastically, and a gift certificate for enough canvas to last him a few months (and that was quite a lot). He didn't know if Harry and Draco had gotten each other anything, seeing as Draco had gone upstairs by then.

Afterward, Harry, Dennis, and Remus all took on the task of cleaning up. They threw around left-over tinsel, and the last major event of the night happened around one in the morning.

The door had opened, and Colin Creevey had walked into the shop. Dennis was in the midst of a very gentle arm wrestle with Harry when he had arrived.

"Colin!" Dennis had yelled.

The brothers hugged, Colin almost lifting Dennis off of his feet, and Remus and Harry watched, mildly curious.

"What are you doing here?" Dennis asked, excited.

Colin ruffled his brother's hair. "I took winter break off, thought I'd come to see you and the family, little D."

"Oh! You have to meet Harry..."

Finally noticing the other two behind his kid brother, Colin was dragged over to the counter to meet the artist. He was distracted into a hug and a greeting by Remus, and made his way towards Harry. Once they were in front of each other, they both started.

"Harry? Harry Potter?" Colin said, shocked.

Remus sat down heavily. "Here we go again."

"You know him?" Dennis first asked his brother, and then turned to Harry. "You know him?"

Harry looked confused, and shook his head. Colin grinned.

"You don't remember me, do you? RI, boarding school? Miss Hooch's class?"

Shock and awareness lit up Harry's face. "Oh my gosh, Colin Creevey!"

They both laughed, and shook hands. Harry looked at him in disbelief. "So that's where Dennis seemed so familiar!"

Dennis hit his brother on the shoulder. "Explain, eh?"

"Oh, Harry and I went to the same boarding school when we were about nine. He was new, and I was assigned to show him around. He was older than me but I was taller than him."

"Hey!" Harry objected playfully. "I remember that, though. You used to call me stunt."

"Stunt?" Dennis asked, while Colin laughed.

"Stunted growth. Aw, come on, Harry, everyone thought you were just my stunt double or something."

"Do you still have that camera?" Harry asked excitedly.

"You mean the one I had that my Dad gave me that I used to drag around everywhere?"

"Yeah!"

"Nah, I pawned it for a surf board."

Remus watched their conversation with a pleasant sort of cheerfulness. Dennis looked in between his brother and Harry happily. His face, though still a bit bruised, was happier than Remus had ever seen him. He looked shocked...but then it was Harry, who pretty much knew everyone there was to know.

Colin took Dennis home, and chatted with Harry while Dennis gathered his things. They waved goodbye, and said Merry Christmas, and watched the two walk out into the snow. There was a little more cleaning to do, but they managed to get it done by two. Harry said good night to Remus, and went back up the stairs.

When Harry entered the loft to quiet, he sighed contentedly. He locked the door behind him and tried not to trip over his feet. The room was dark except for the red and white twinkle lights Harry had put up over one of the windows. It cast an eerie glow around the different items in the loft, and Harry briefly glanced outside to see the snow just starting to fall.

He walked over to his mattress and grabbed his backpack, shoving things half-heartedly inside. He took off his sweater, leaving only a pale gray tee-shirt on underneath, and kicked off his shoes, letting his jeans pool around his feet. He sighed again, running a hand through his hair, before a slight movement caught his eyes.

Draco Malfoy, in jeans and a white shirt, lay sprawled on the couch where he had dozed off. It was the first time Harry had ever seen him so relaxed. Harry observed Draco as he stretched his back carefully. He moved a canvas off of his mattress and got a glass of water, yawning. He figured he had better wake Draco up.

He shook Draco's shoulder. "Hey, Malfoy. Wake up."

Draco turned away from him. The shirt he was wearing rode up to reveal a pale curved back. Harry blushed a bit, and shook his roommate again.

"Come on, go in your room. You're going to snore all freaking night."

"I don't snore," came Draco's muffled mutter.

"What was that?" Harry asked, amused.

"I don't snore. Go away."

"Oh no, you're not going to wake me up at the crack of dawn and step on me while I'm sleeping, so you can work on Christmas day."

"I'm not working today."

Harry straightened up. "I'll put whipped cream on your hand, I swear."

Draco sniggered, and opened one eye. "Will you, really?"

Blushing, Harry turned away. "Shut up."

"Hey, wait." Draco reached out for his hand and drew him back. Harry looked at him expectantly and sighed. He was standing in front of the laid back Draco, one arm still clutched in a tight grip, with Draco looking at him inquiringly. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm too tired for this, call Blaise..."

Getting up, and letting Harry stand beside him in the process, Draco shuffled around the coffee table, moving things, and finally shoved a small wrapped package into Harry's arms. "Here," and he sat down heavily again.

"What's this?"

Sighing dramatically, Draco raised an eyebrow at him. "Merry Christmas."

Harry stared at him, until a smile suddenly erupted on his face. He unwrapped it eagerly, but stopped when he saw what it was. Draco smirked.

"Now your hands won't be cold. Since you're too poor to buy a pair of gloves and all...it's fake leather...so thank me for being considerate to your bovine friends."

Harry knocked himself out of his stupor, and smiled at Draco genuinely. "Thank you for being considerate to my bovine friends."

"You're welcome," and Draco smiled back.

Suddenly excited, Harry lifted a finger into the air. "Oh! I have something for you, too."

Draco looked surprised, but Harry didn't mind really. Tripping over random things to get toward his mattress, he wondered if his own present would go over well. He reached underneath his bed and pulled a bag from underneath it. Draco watched curiously as Harry walked back over to him.

"I didn't have time to wrap it."

Draco looked at the bag in Harry's outstretched hand, and then up at Harry, who said, "Well?"

Nodding, he took it and opened the bag carefully.

"I was going to give it to you tomorrow, but I didn't know if you would be working, so I contemplated giving it to you tonight, but you were asleep, and now you're not, so it all works out!" Harry was babbling.

Draco took the present out of the bag and grinned. Seeing a pleasant reaction, Harry smiled at him. "It's real Gucci, but cloth instead of leather. I had to search everywhere for it...those rich snotty people sure like killing poor defenseless..."

"Potter..."

"...you won't believe how many leather man purses they had, so I found you this one. Looks more like a messenger bag than anything..."

"Potter!"

"Do you like it?" Harry suddenly asked, nervously. Draco looked down at the black bag. It was a very simple looking business case, with a little embossed 'G' on the front. It was nicely made, and as posh as it was environmentally friendly.

"I absolutely adore it." Draco said, grinning wolfishly.

Harry smiled at him. "I bet you're wondering how I afforded it!"

Draco set the bag down carefully, still flattered and flushed with pleasure, and made a noise of protest. "I was not. I can have a little more tact than you give me credit for, you know."

Shaking his head, Harry blushed. That smile didn't leave his face as he turned away. "I'm glad you liked it then."

"And the gloves?" Draco asked, not (he hoped) too anxiously. Harry gave him a look of sincere gratitude, and grinned.

"They were great."

Draco watched Harry turn away from him. His heart pounded for no reason, and his palms were suddenly sweaty. He found that he didn't want Harry to go away...even if it was only a couple of steps from him. In a burst of madness, he was sure that he would regret later, he reached out and grabbed hold of Harry's arm again. He only tugged a bit too hard.

Harry came rushing past him; bound for the floor. Draco, his hand still clasped with Harry's arm, went down as well. There was a small crack and a grunt, before they landed in an undignified heap between the coffee table and the couch. Draco's chest was scrunched uncomfortably, and his legs were entangled ungracefully with Harry, who lay underneath him. He managed to open his eyes when a puff of air hit the side of his chin.

Harry grabbed his head. "Ow..."

"Did you hit it?" Draco asked, putting his hands on either side of Harry's head and pushing up to relieve the pressure on their chests and torso. Harry groaned again.

"What the hell..."

Beryl eyes opened into awareness, as Draco's hands sought the injury and checked for blood. Harry stared at him, and then down at their position, and suddenly smiled.

"Well this is convenient," he commented wryly. Draco looked away from Harry's head and blinked.

"What?"

Harry titled his head, his neck arching sensually, and smiled that smile at him. Draco's heart faltered... "Well," Harry elaborated. "This is all very banal isn't it? Did you mean for us to fall?"

Draco blinked again, pushing himself up a bit more so he could look down at Harry carefully. "Banal?" he shook his head, looking adorably sheepish. "I was kind of going for you falling on top of me, and staying on the couch."

Harry laughed. "Is this the part where I say," and his voice changed into a rather deep, seductive drawl. "Now that you have me here, what do you plan on doing with me?"

Faltering, Draco stared down at Harry unsurely. "Is that what you're saying?"

From amusing to serious, the mood changed abruptly. Harry's bright eyes looked up at him, wide and conflicted. Harry pushed at Draco's chest a bit, and looked away from his silver eyes.

"No, that's not what I'm saying," and Harry tried to push him off again. Draco's shoulder barely twitched backward, while the rest of his body showed he had no intention of moving.

Harry looked up at him, and stopped as well. The red and white from the lights in the loft clashed with Draco's pale complection. Like porcelain, the curves of Draco's features were smooth and sharp. The colors of his face and the light from the room meeting into the part of his face that shined brighter than his trademark smirk. The pair of lovely silk eyes looking down at him, equally as fascinated.

He found he wanted to touch that skin, maybe even run the pads of his fingers over Draco's strong jaw, and he brought his hands up and touched. Draco's eyes fluttered shut, and Harry moved his hand to the back of his neck, where blond tresses twirled around his fingers.

Harry wasn't sure if it was he who pulled Draco down, or if his roommate had moved first. They met in a familiar kiss, only tasted once, and somewhere within the chaos there was completion.

Draco moved his lips against Harry's, slowly and pleasantly. Teeth grazed his bottom lip, and he tilted his head down to properly maneuver his tongue into Harry's mouth. He felt hands on his neck, in his hair, and a leg shifting against his. He pressed his tongue against Harry's and pulled away slowly, gathering lips as he went. He used his teeth to pull Harry's mouth back open, and repeated the process.

Those hands were running down his back, now. Draco arched slightly under the touch, and his shirt was soon pulled up so that warm palms could run across his body. Draco felt a tingling in his hand, and he switched weight on his arm and moved to lean on his elbow. The action made his teeter to the side a bit, and Harry's lips went with him. When they settled again. He was putting more pressure on Harry's torso, and the temptation to move was almost all-consuming.

He kissed Harry harder, and a little faster. He felt his body waking up suddenly, and he moved his now free hand down to Harry's hip. Harry moved his leg again, across his own, and Draco heard more than felt the rub of jeans against his sweats. With hands still moving around his back, he managed to squeeze his own palm up Harry's shirt. The reaction was perfection, and Harry arched delicately.

Draco ran his tongue across the roof of Harry's mouth, and was awarded with a low moan. He was even more shocked when Harry thrust his hips, and met his own with a friction Draco found hard to ignore. He wrapped his arm around Harry's waist and pushed back. This time, the feel of a leg entwining with his own drove him near insane.

Harry's hands threaded into his hair, as he continued to push. The pressure started to build between them, and Draco felt hot all over. He didn't know when soft and seductive kisses turned passionate and desperate, and he was moderately sure that Harry didn't know either. Nothing but the feel of hands, lips, legs and heat were on their minds. They could think of nothing else but the warmth they were creating and the anticipation of a release between them.

Draco thrust again, and Harry breathed heavily into his mouth. Seeing that neck arched and open, Draco leaned down and ran is teeth and tongue across silken skin. He tasted salt and soap on his tongue, and he leaned down a bit more to bite above Harry's collarbone. Harry's hands were messing up his hair, but he didn't mind. Draco kissed upwards and thrust, stopping his caressing at the bit of skin beneath Harry's ear.

Hand stilling near his hip, Harry laid his palm flat onto Draco's lower back and pushed. Draco thrust again, holding Harry into place. The feel of Draco's body alined with his own, and the steady pulsing in his torso was enough to make Harry scream. He threw his head back again, feeling breath and heat on his jaw, until the kisses started again down his chin and back to his lips. His attention, however, was more focused on his groin area.

Draco quickened his thrusts and moved a bit so that he was moving up into Harry's body, rather then past, and very suddenly Harry pulled his neck down into a strong kiss. Draco let lips suck on his own, and tongue run around his teeth, before he fought back. He pushed again, enjoying the low moan that emerged from Harry's chest. Speeding up, Harry's body reacted to his pleasantly, and Draco felt his pants constrict against the evidence of Harry's passion.

Light and sweat danced across their faces. They were pushing into and onto each other, like the steady pulse of everything they did together. They moved as one, and the pressure bit at them and stung. They needed release more than anything, and any thoughts of stopping were pushed into the back of their mind. Draco made one particular thrust that set Harry off beautifully.

The body beneath him arched, and Draco felt his sweaty palm center Harry on his chest, before running down to his hip. Harry jolted, and moaned. He felt it, Draco felt it, and he gave a sharp push forward and lost himself somewhere past Harry's body and the rustle of jeans against his legs. He was brought down from new heights to the sound of breathing.

Harry's eyes flickered open, and met his own hazy gaze. They were both too hot, and Draco felt the material of his shirt sticking to his body. Skin beneath his hands trembled, as they felt a cold breeze start to dry the wetness between them. Draco still felt as if he wasn't close enough...as if he could still push something, and create a separate pulse.

They breathed together, not really saying anything that their bodies hadn't said already. Draco closed his eyes and breathed in, before leaning his forehead against Harry's. A hand reached out towards his face, and brushed away a strand of blond hair.

Outside, the snow continued to fall.


	18. Meddling Media

Blaise thought that maybe he could have kissed the newspaper, but then grew reluctant. News print was known to be rather dirty, and most people seemed hesitant to even have it anywhere near their breakfast these days. Then Blaise remembered he wasn't Draco and that he didn't care all that much about dirt. He ended up caressing the article with a napkin.

His first instinctual thought was that he needed to tell everyone. From the guy standing next to him in line for his coffee, to his old English teacher back in his Freshman year of high school. She would get a kick out of it, he was sure. He settled for jumping up and down, and smiling insanely while emitting a rather disturbing sound behind his teeth. The man next to him moved to the back of the line.

It was a horrible thing to have happened, really. Blaise knew Draco would be absolutely furious and not to mention Pansy. Oh ho, Pansy. Blaise did his happy dance again and walked up to the counter to get his cappuccino. He clutched the newspaper, smiling so wide he felt as if his cheeks would fall off.

When he got back into his car, there was no hesitance or caution whatsoever in his driving (not that there ever was) and he sped down the street like a bat out of hell. He felt like rolling down his window and hurling the article at an unknown bystander. He figured they'd read it if it hit them in an important appendage. Like a sign from God.

Blaise lit up a cigarette and rolled down the window, waiting for the light to change. He knew Draco had Boxing Day off, so he figured he would be hanging around the loft. He hoped Draco was still there, because he fucking well had to tell somebody! He thought about calling Hermione, but the last time he'd called her and told her great news, she had hung up on him. Maybe losing a morning erection (that had bugged him all day at work) wasn't great news to a girl.

The light changed and he sped off and he turned up the music and gave a holler out of the window, overjoyed when he heard someone give one back. He decided the first thing he would do would be to burst Draco's deluded denial bubble, and flaunt the article in front of his handsome face. Then, he supposed he'd get a taco and after that maybe he would brag some more.

He took a side street and cut three cars off, nearly running over someone crossing the street. Blaise figured it was a good day so far.

He saw Remus opening up the shop as he pulled up. His excitement continued to build, and he could barely park straight in his haste to get inside. Remus walked back in, and he vaulted onto the curb and up to the window. He smashed into it, one palm flat against the glass and the other clutching the paper. Blaise smudged his face up to the window and watched Remus turn around and raise his eyebrows.

He gave an enthusiastic lurch and unstuck his face to tear open the front door.

"Ho, ho!" He shouted gleefully.

"Ho," Remus said, walking behind the counter and shaking his head. "Christmas was yesterday."

Blaise hopped over to him. "Christmas is now every day. Take a look at this!"

He slapped the paper down onto the counter with a loud smack. Sighing, Remus grabbed the print for himself and started to read. He gasped.

"Hell . . . "

Blaise nodded. "Fucking exactly."

The day's tabloid gazed up at them as if sharing a wonderfully hilarious joke. Remus refrained from cursing too badly, and looked up at Blaise's grinning face for assurance. Oh it's real all right, the man's expression seemed to say.

The entire left side column of the entertainment section was dedicated to two people Remus and Blaise knew well.

Draco Malfoy's face was pale and slightly multicolored in the Christmas lights from Fleur-De-Lis. Next to him, Harry stood nonchalantly as he was interrogated. It would have looked like a completely harmless photo of two friends if it wasn't for that rare smile on Draco's face, their dangerously close proximity, and the hand that was laying comfortably on top of the artist's arm. Oh joy, Remus felt like doing the shimmy.

The headline, more insinuating than the picture, said: Malfoy's in for Trouble, like Draco had been caught with candy. And hell, Remus smirked, he had been caught. Blaise took the paper from him gently, and flattened it out, clearing his throat and trying not to laugh.

"'It seemsMadison and David's heir has flown the coop on the Parkinson marriage. Malfoy spent Christmas Eve at the well-known Fleur-De-Lis with his artist roommate," Blaise read, and paused dramatically. "'Who has managed successfully to catch the eye of rich babe Draco Malfoy."

Blaise mouthed 'babe' and raised an insulted eyebrow, before going on. "'The two seemed very close, and according to other frequent clients at Fleur-De-Lis, Malfoy and his roommate have taken a liking to each other not previously spotted.'" He grinned. "'Could this be a romance in the works? Or has this handsome artist already dipped his paintbrush into the love-life of the Malfoy heir?'"

"Ha!" Blaise jumped up and down. "Dipped his..."

"...Paintbrush."

"Where's our rich babe, anyway, Remus?" Blaise asked, once he had himself under control.

"Still asleep, I suppose. He left about noon yesterday and didn't come back until late. Harry's making a grocery run for me, but yesterday, oh man . . . " Remus lifted up the article and shook his head. "This seemed far from the truth."

"Bad day, yesterday?"

Throwing a hand over his eyes, he said, "Ghastly," and Blaise snickered.

"I love it when they fight."

Remus nodded thoughtfully after a moment. "They were awfully awkward yesterday though. I tried asking Harry what the deal was but he kind of diverted the conversation." He made a motion to suggest diverting.

"Yeah, well," Blaise looked toward the stairs. "I think it's about time Mr. Malfoy saw the paper."

Draco was actually awake when Blaise flounced into the apartment. He stood in sweats and a shirt, somehow managing to look as sleek as usual, and scowled at his friend when the door flew open. Draco set down his newly dry-cleaned slacks and raised an eyebrow at him.

"What is it?"

"What is it? What is it?" Blaise grinned at him, showing bright white teeth and pink bubble gum. "The paper is what is it."

Draco didn't look at Blaise or the article, even though it had been tossed onto the couch. He continued smoothing out his clothes and sighed. "It's too early for your nonsensical babble."

"Ha!" Blaise lifted a finger. "But this nonsensical babble has to do with Harry!"

Stopping mid-fold, Draco turned to him. "Harry?"

"And you," he affirmed, nodding. "You and Harry."

Draco's clothes toppled to the floor as he lunged for the article. His eyes went wide as they skimmed over the headline. "Fuck!" he cursed.

"You and Harry fuck? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Shut up, Blaise! This is so bad!" Draco threw the paper onto the floor and ran for his room. Blaise followed behind him as he continued to curse. He made to walk into Draco's room, but the door slammed in his face.

"Ah, come on Draco. It could be worse."

Draco's muffled, enraged voice, came from inside the room. "Oh yeah? How? My father's going to see that paper. Pansy will see that paper. My mother will see that paper. Tell me, how could it get worse?"

Blaise rolled his eyes at the door and lit a cigarette. "You could be having an affair with that Sprout woman."

The door flew open to reveal Draco in black pants and a white shirt, wrestling with his tie. "You sick bastard." Blaise cackled and walked into the room. "This is bad, Blaise, really bad."

"Hey, hey." He breathed out a cloud of smoke. "I took care of it."

Draco's head shot up from where he was lacing his shoes. "You did?" he asked skeptically.

Blaise took a drag nonchalantly. "I called Nott and told him to snatch the morning paper from your dad's mail."

"You did? Blaise, really?" Draco inquired, hopefully.

His best friend nodded, and then grinned. "I'm clever aren't I? Yes, it's all taken care of."

Draco finished tying his shoes, but then looked distressed once more. "Oh but Mother...and Pansy."

Blaise shrugged, but then thought for a moment. "You know, not once have you considered denying the entire thing. You haven't even gone on the defensive with me."

Draco stepped up to his full length mirror and tied his tie carefully. Blaise suddenly gasped.

"You are fucking him!"

His eyes were wide, and only widened when Draco kept looking into his reflection blankly. Blaise tried to blurt out something accusing but his tongue felt ten times bigger. He settled for gesticulating madly and doing his dance from earlier that morning.

"We're not...it's not..." Draco stuttered, and then sighed. "He won't even talk to me."

"Wait, he doesn't talk to you while your fucking him? What's there to talk about?"

Draco spun around a leveled him with a glare. "You really are a moron."

Blaise watched Draco grab his jacket and head for the door, and threw up his hands in frustration. "Draco? Oh come on, Draco!"

"I've got to go explain things to Pansy."

Stopping abruptly, Blaise grabbed Draco's arm and they came to a halt in front of the door.

Blaise was suddenly so hopeful he thought he might cry. Was Draco finally going to end it? Was he finally going to do the right thing and get himself out of that wonky marriage? He looked at his friend more seriously than he had ever looked. Even more seriously then when he'd begged Draco to go to a 'Crotch Fire' concert with him back in their school days.

"You're going to tell her? It's over now, is it?" He prompted.

Draco's intense eyes gave nothing away, though his hands shook as he slid his jacket over his shoulders. "No," he said to Blaise, quietly. "I'm getting married."

Blaise watched his friend walk out of the loft, and sighed. He took a deep puff from his cigarette and held it in. He knew Draco would deny Harry, and the whole thing would seem like it was over. Blaise wasn't stupid. He knew Draco only had eyes for his artist roommate. It seemed as if something had happened, and Harry had decided for the both of them that whatever it was had been bad.

Draco had decided for them both; that it was over.

The whole thing, Blaise pondered as he walked back down to the shop, was one huge mess. Draco's mother wouldn't mention the article to Lucius Malfoy (she loved her son too much) but Pansy... If Draco screwed up with the explanations then Pansy would go straight to Draco's father. Blaise found himself half wishing he hadn't called Nott.

Draco was going to break Harry's heart.

He didn't see Remus downstairs and sighed in relief. Blaise figured he'd come back later and try and console Harry a bit. By then he would be all right to talk to Remus about what Draco planned on doing. Sighing, he crushed his cigarette beneath his sneaker and walked back to his car.

Remus watched Harry unload the groceries in silence. All morning-before and after he had sent Harry out to get their supplies-his friend had been quiet and withdrawn. Remus was worried, because though he'd seen Harry in those moods before, this one was about something considerably more serious. He thought back to the article and cringed.

He was glad Blaise had come by and had shown it to him. He wouldn't have seen it otherwise, that is, until Mrs. Sprout would come in the following day and tell them all with inappropriate excitement. Sure, it was sort of a good thing this was happening. The earlier Draco was out in the open, the earlier the two could get involved. Remus only wondered if Draco planned on breaking the marriage off for sure.

And if that wasn't his plan...he gave another look at Harry. Remus walked over to stand beside his employee and started to unload the bags with him. Harry didn't say anything, but gave him a small, reserved smile instead. Remus wondered if Harry had seen the article on a news-stand. The thought made him feel guilty and considerably uncomfortable.

He just knew something important had happened but Harry wouldn't tell him. Remus really wanted to know, since the entire 'sexual tension' thing was getting old. He hated to sound crude, or even too much like Blaise, but he wished they'd just fuck already.

Remus sighed. "Are you going to tell me what's happened?"

Harry remained silent, but pensive, and reached up to put a can in one of the cupboards. Remus watched him seriously. "Because I've seen the article, and I would normally write it off as rumors if I didn't notice that something was up yesterday."

Remus paused, and then shook his head. "No pun intended."

That got a laugh out of his friend, and soon they were both chuckling. Harry put away some cereal and gave him a look, but then smiled. Remus grinned wolfishly in his head.

"How could you tell?" Harry asked. "Yesterday, I mean."

Scoffing, Remus rolled up the paper bags and put them in the green bin. "It was obvious you two weren't talking. But the 'kicked puppy' look on Malfoy's face was enough evidence for me, thank you."

"Well you made a brilliant deduction." Harry sighed. "You're good at reading body language, did you know?"

"And you're good at diverting the conversation." Remus made the motion with his hands, again. Harry smirked at him.

"Yeah, sure. Anyway..." He ran one hand through his hair. "Something did happen...about three in the morning on Christmas Day."

"Ooh!" Remus exclaimed disappointedly. "I was asleep."

Harry laughed and nudged him with his elbow. "Shut up. Draco and I don't go listening at your door when you have Severus over."

"Who said anything about listening at doors?" Remus raised both hands in defense. "Blaise does that, not me."

"I don't want to know what Blaise does." Harry grinned. "And the funny thing about him is that he's crazy everywhere, so it's hard to pin him as an attention-seeking chav."

"Well you're certainly a change-of-subject-seeking chav. Get to talking." He reminded Harry, brandishing a cucumber. He looked down at it, and then glanced up in question.

"Why did you buy a cucumber? Never mind. So? Let's hear it."

Harry grinned, and switched his stance. "So Christmas morning, I finally get back to the apartment, and there's Draco asleep on the couch. I walk over and try to wake him up, because he'd probably bug me all night, er, morning with his snoring."

"Malfoy snores!" Remus asked gleefully, and then shook his head and leaned against the counter. "Never mind, go on."

"So he ends up giving me a Christmas present. Gloves." At Remus' frown he simply shook his head. "Let's just say it was a nice thought. I got him a present as well..."

"What?"

"A Gucci bag. Both were...oh, how did he put it? 'Bovine friendly'."

"Okay...so?"

"I'm getting there." Harry sat down heavily. "He did this odd thing and toppled us over, like some bad romance novel, I hung a lantern and told him it was cheesy and then we kissed."

"You kissed." Remus glared at him. "That's it?"

Harry scowled. "Okay, Blaise. No, that's not it. We had fucking dry sex on the floor between the Milan rip-off coffee table and the pinstripe sofa!"

Remus laughed. "Really? Now that's romantic."

"It was wrong! And I thought kissing him was bad..." Harry shook his head, guilty. He let out a sudden groan of frustration. "And we just let it happen! Like he wasn't engaged, and I wasn't...unreliable."

"That's the first time you've ever admitted you're unreliable. And speaking of which, where do you go when you go where you go?" He knew it wasn't articulate, but Harry got the point.

The artist sighed, hanging his head. He breathed through his nose and looked up at Remus tiredly. "I help out that friend...Seamus."

"You disappear to help him out? How?"

"I told him to look after some of my savings a while back, and let him live a bit off of it..." Harry scrunched his eyebrows together. "Seamus is in bad shape. I keep trying to take him to detox, but he won't go anymore. I suppose giving him money is a bad idea as well...anyway. I work odd jobs for people well, anywhere Seamus lives and earn back the money he spends."

"You're basically working two jobs, and supporting your junkie friend?" Remus was silent. "That's messed up, Harry."

Groaning, Harry stood up and started to fiddle with things. "I know...I know. But he's like my brother, we've been together even before my parents died, and I-well, sometimes he spends a lot of my money and I have to earn it back."

When he saw Remus' questioning frown, he shrugged. "I'm a balanced budget kind of person. Contrary to Draco's belief...I'm not poor."

Remus smirked. "So you choose to be a dumpster pirate?"

"Shut up. You choose to be the 'nice guy everyone can talk to'. I think that's worse." Remus couldn't help but laugh.

"Yeah, it probably is."

They were silent for a moment, and Remus watched the morning sunlight extend through the windows. Flecks of dust fell from the overhead fan, and he ran a hand over his eyes. "So what happened after you two 'made friction' on the floor?"

"Made friction?"Harry laughed. "Well, somehow we both fell asleep and Draco crawled back onto the couch."

"While you just laid there like a sack of potatoes."

"I fell asleep, on the floor. So yes." He glared. "The next time I woke up it was about six and I decided to high-tail it out of there before Draco got up."

"Hence the awkward silences yesterday, every time you ran into him."

Harry nodded. "Exactly."

"It's an odd situation, Harry, I'll give you that."

Remus couldn't say much more than the obvious. Being involved with a famous, engaged heir and then being ousted by the newspapers was thankfully something Remus had never experienced. Poor Harry looked overwhelmed and more than a tad upset. Remus wanted to tell him that Draco would go to Pansy and call everything off, but the odds of that happening were slim. He knew Harry knew that as well. The look on the artists' face said enough.

He was suddenly grateful for his own not necessarily sappy relationship with Severus. They had their differences in opinion, and they had their newly discovered moments of awkwardness, but compared to Harry and Draco's blossoming romance...there companionship was picture perfect. Ah, but Remus resolved that the two would get together in the end. Or else...

"The circumstances are different. I mean, I'm pretty sure Draco isn't attracted to Pansy," he tried to provide helpfully. "He's awfully transparent."

"But he's still cheating."

Remus nodded painfully. "Yeah, sorry."

Suddenly, the door to the shop flew open, and Blaise walked in looking annoyed. Thankful for the change of topic since he hadn't been helping much, Remus watched his friend take long strides over to them; out of breath. Blaise's hair was windswept, and his wide dark eyes shifted uneasily. Remus tried not to snicker.

"Fucking..." He panted, a look of complete disbelief on his face.

"Everything all right?" Remus asked hesitantly.

Blaise huffed, shaking his head back and forth in disbelief.

"I just got assaulted by a bum."

"What?" Harry asked, distracted. He stood straight and rolled up another paper bag.

"Yeah," he said, his eyes wide. "I was sitting there, eating a taco, minding my own business..."

"Where were you?"

"That taco place, around the corner. Okay?" he said haggardly, flailing his arms about. "This bum walks in, and I'm eating...you know, tacos. And he asks for free food!"

"In New York?" Harry asked skeptically.

"Yeah! So then, they said no, and he got angry." Blaise looked heavenward."He comes over to the trash can, and slams one of the trays down. Okay, yeah, he fucking missed the trash can and hit me on the head!"

If Blaise was looking for sympathy, he didn't get it. Remus and Harry laughed so hard there were tears in their eyes, and Blaise, still shocked and offended, cursed.

"Fucking...just minding my own business, and out of nowhere..." He made a motion with his hand that suggested getting walloped on the head.

Remus put his palm against his stomach and tried to stop laughing. "It's not like there's anything in your head anyway..."

"Haha!" Harry collapsed against the counter.

"Oh thanks, that's very nice. Thank you." Blaise snapped testily.

"What did you do?" Harry asked between great gaps of laughter.

Blaise lifted up his hands, shrugging. "I just kind of sat there, you know? With the 'did something just hit me' look."

Harry, still chuckling, started to move towards the refrigerator. "Do you want some ice?"

"No," he said forcefully. "You can make me a sandwich, though."

"I thought you just had a taco?" Remus said.

"Well getting assaulted by a bum kind of put me off tacos, thank you very much. I'd appreciate a snack to alleviate the stress."

"I'm making coffee, would that suffice?" Harry got out the filters and rolled his eyes.

"Suffice? Is that french for something?"

"Come on," Remus pushed Blaise out into the front of the shop and once Harry was out of earshot, stopped him. "What did Draco say this morning?" He asked in an undertone.

Blaise looked to where Harry was wrestling with the coffee and glanced back at Remus seriously. He sighed.

"Draco's not breaking it off with Pansy. He's still in denial." At Remus' unsurprised but angry expression, Blaise nodded. "I know. He's an idiot."

"I think Harry knows already," Remus lifted a shoulder in a helpless shrug. "He can tell when he's lost, I suppose."

"Well this is some angst-filled soap opera we're living. What the hell is next? Death?"

Remus shook his head. "Resurrection."

"Shit." Blaise took out a cigarette and lit it. He inhaled and the smoke disappeared before reemerging less in quantity. Remus tried not to think about how much of that burning ash was still lodged in his lungs.

"If Draco does this," Remus decided to say. "If he hurts Harry," he held up a hand when Blaise opened his mouth to protest. "Provided, Harry doesn't suspect the letdown already, then I won't have him in my shop."

"You're going to kick him out!" Blaise exclaimed, shocked, but not ready to jump and defend his friend. Remus, fortunately, shook his head.

"No. I mean he won't have a friend in me. He's on his own. He pays me rent, we go over the water and electric bills, and that's it. Because I can bet you dollars to doughnuts that Harry's going to..."

"Coffee's ready!"

Blaise was distracted enough by the coffee that Remus didn't have to expand. They sat down and enjoyed the hot beverage for a while, a few customers coming in now and again. Remus, meanwhile, continued to watch Harry carefully. He desperately wanted to know if his employee would be okay until Draco got his head out of his butt, but reluctantly admitted that he didn't know enough about Harry's reactions to form a basic prediction.

Hell, Remus was mad himself. He was tired of the conflict the two were causing, and though he knew it was romantic (in a sense and if they did indeed get together) he just wished they would happen!

Blaise was quiet until Remus purposefully brought up Draco, and then he was obligated to say something. They could both sense his anxiety about relaying what had happened that morning between the two best friends, but he did it anyway. Blaise tried to soften the blow with reassurances that Draco was enamored of Harry, but he didn't think the artist believed him.

"Oh come on," Blaise was saying forcefully. "It's all in the way he looks at you."

Harry snorted, his back to the counter and his shoulders hunched a bit. Occasionally he would look to the side, to conceal slight moisture at his eyes, maybe, or because he couldn't bare to face Blaise as he tried to tell him Draco was in love. The fact that Draco would not dump Pansy kind of made Harry think otherwise, and he said so.

"Harry..." Remus tried. "I think Blaise is right. Draco's confused..."

"Hell, I'm confused!" Blaise provided in frustration. "But I do know that I've never seen Draco more happy than when he's with you."

"All we do is fight...how on earth is he happy?"

"Oh please, you can't tell me that when you're sparing with him, you don't feel fabulous."

Harry looked down and managed to mumble a response. "Not when he calls me a troglodyte and a trash digger."

Thinking for a moment, Blaise finally nodded in acquisition and shrugged. "I can see where it would turn mean. But hey, he could say worse...he holds back."

"Not enough." Remus watched Harry push himself up onto the counter top, and didn't have the heart to tell him to get down. "Draco needs to learn to think about what he's going to say before he says it."

Blaise and Remus had tons of things that they wanted to bring up about Draco's behavior. Blaise didn't mind saying what needed to be said, since for a long time Draco had been rude to him as well. It wasn't like Draco had always been that way. Ever since he'd gotten a job at Madison and David, figured out that his father wanted him to marry Pansy, and decided work was more important than having a social life-Draco hadn't been Draco.

Before, he had been horribly opinionated (in a good way), marvelously clever, and ever so daring. Blaise had never met someone who was as bold as Draco. In fact, he had a million stories of Draco talking back to teachers and causing general mayhem at school.

Blaise missed that. He was unwilling to admit how much...but he did, and he wanted that part of him back. He saw that Draco when he argued with Harry, when he talked about Harry, when Harry was in the general vicinity...Blaise thought he could be excused for assuming that the two were made for each other. But most of all, Blaise just wanted his friend back.

Contrary to his own boisterous and unbreakable character, there was a limit to how much rejection a person could take. Blaise figured Harry understood that, since he looked like the kind of person that wondered about their own self-worth. When Blaise actually put his mind on Harry, the artist proved not to be very hard to figure out. Harry was just like them, even if his lovely face and brilliant presence said otherwise.

The best part about Harry, Blaise reckoned, was his affect on Draco. Blaise wanted to switch around those words, add a few and take a few away. He wanted the best thing about Draco to be Harry, because together seemed to be the only word that fit them both completely.

"It's not all him, you know," Harry said slowly. They both looked at him, and he cleared his throat. "Well, I provoke him. I leave my stuff around so he'll get angry..."

"Why?" Blaise asked, laughing.

Harry refused to look at them, and his face turned red. "You are kind of right. I like fighting with him."

Blaise leaned back in his seat and let out a long, amused moan, and then broke out into hysterics. "It's like one of those romance novels you find at the grocery store-about maidens captured by pirates, and hot and heated affairs."

"You read those, too?" Remus asked, but Blaise yelled over him, "Shiver me timbers!"

"I read one once, actually." They both turned to stare at Harry. "What? It was a good story."

Remus nodded, but his twitching mouth gave him away. "They are very creative."

"About as creative as a TV calling me a fucker."

Harry laughed, but Blaise suddenly sat up straighter. "I actually tried some of this congressional art..."

"Conceptual."

"Right," Blaise shuffled in his seat and reached in his pocket for his box of cigarettes. "See, here's my idea...I get a picture of a sandwich..."

"Why a sandwich?" Harry asked, but Blaise shushed him.

"I'm getting there! So...I take a picture of a sandwich, stick it onto a box and beside it, I'll have different parts of the sandwich...okay?" They nodded, but slowly.

"The art gallery people put the different parts of the sandwich in the box, right, the ones that they think they can relate to most..."

"People can relate to a sandwich?" Remus asked.

"It's conceptual. So yes," but Harry looked confused as well. "I suppose."

"Hey!" Blaise suddenly snapped. "Sandwich art, remember? Okay, so they put their preferred sandwich part into the box, and it shoots out a little card that says something about their character. Here's the best part about this..."

Harry and Remus exchanged a look when Blaise ushered them forward to talk in a loud whisper. "Let's say you put lettuce into the box and you get your sandwich fortune that says, 'you're limp and unflattering,' just as your contemplating your sandwich fortune, you get sprayed with lettuce. Splat...all over you."

Blaise sat back, smirking. "It's brilliant isn't it?"

Harry put a hand over his eyes and Remus tried not to laugh. "I get buried in lettuce?"

"Or ketchup, or buns, or mayo, or meat..." He grinned when Harry shivered. "Tell me it's fantastic, I need to hear this."

Rubbing his eyes, Harry shook his head and Remus smiled. "More coffee?"

They spent the rest of the day talking about inconsequential things, along with Blaise's sandwich art a couple of times. Remus tried to persuade Blaise not to pursue the idea, but had a hard time about it seeing as Harry kept encouraging him. They didn't talk much about Draco anymore, and for that Remus was grateful. He only hoped that Draco wouldn't be back for a few days, so that Harry's hurt could cool.

In the middle of one of Blaise's strange and highly amusing stories, he cut himself off and jumped up, swearing.

"Oh, Fuck!"

"What's your deal?" Harry asked, gathering their cups.

Blaise made a run for the door. "I think I was supposed to go to work today!"

Remus, holding his mug and grinning, came up to stand by Harry. They heard the screech of tires, a few cuss words and Blaise's voice yelling back, before they saw his car speed down the street.

The hours past without much event. Customers passed visited the shop, and Remus and Harry kept track of orders for Mrs. Sprout for when she got back from holiday. It was cold outside, and though it hadn't snowed since that lovely night before Christmas, Remus could sense the clouds getting colder, and knew more snowfall was on the way. Christmas decorations still hung above lamp posts and traffic lights, and though the holiday itself was over, the festive atmosphere would not go away until after New Years.

They turned the radio on around early afternoon and Remus and Harry were both pleased to not hear Christmas music over the speakers. As much as Remus loved the season-Christmas music was torture. Instead, there was an unhealthy amount of eighties music, that Harry immediately changed to jazz. Remus suddenly smiled as he moved a rather large pot of fertilizer to the side. Blaise and his nonsense had lightened the mood considerably.

Which made it all the more disappointingly worse, when Draco Malfoy walked in around dinner with a pointed look at Harry and a scowl on his face. Remus wanted to groan, and maybe get out the hose and spray Draco down with pesticide.

"Can we talk?" Draco asked in a staged whisper. Harry, who had been mopping the floor rather thoroughly, stopped and stared.

"I get off in an hour," he said a bit quietly. The 'can you wait?' was evident enough in his tone. Draco looked impatient, however, and he stepped closer.

"I really need to have a word with you."

Remus wondered what 'have a word with you' meant. Normally, he would shrug and decide it was none of his business...but he was in protective older boss mode now, and he didn't think he'd be able to get out of it.

"I need you to wait, Draco. This is my job."

"You've never taken it seriously before!" Draco snarled, and Remus made to step forward, but stopped at the look on Harry's face. He winced for the artist, because likely Remus' predictions of Draco breaking Harry's heart were correct. Harry seemed to know it as well, and he fixed his eyes on his feet.

"Just wait, all right?"

Scoffing, Draco turned on his heel and headed up the stairs. Remus called for Harry's help, to a reinforce Harry's objection, and gazed at him sympathetically.

"You don't want to talk to him," Remus affirmed, and his head hurt. Harry turned to him and nodded.

"I don't know what he'll say, but it won't be nice."

Remus straightened and met Harry's eyes very seriously. "If he says anything wrong, don't you let him walk all over you." True, he knew Harry wouldn't anyway, but felt he needed to say it out loud. "You're cleverer, kinder, and a hell of a lot more sensitive than him. He can't hurt you with out your consent."

"I've heard that one before," Harry snorted.

Grabbing Harry's shoulders gently, Remus shook his head. "Don't let him hurt you, and Harry?"

The artist looked up, and his green eyes flashed. Remus was struck suddenly with the revelation that Harry was solid beneath his fingertips, and that a person like Harry was-and could be-real. His hands tingled as he slowly dropped them to his sides, and he frowned deeply.

"I want you to take a week off. Any week. For...anything you might need to do."

Harry's eyes widened slightly, and he bit his lip. "I do have to..." he gave a fleeting glace up the stairs to the loft.

Remus followed his stare. "I won't tell him."

"But you need help. I can't just leave again."

"Yes you can," and Remus put a hand on his shoulder again, smiling. "This is really screwed up, and I can't imagine making it any more difficult. So don't. If you need the time off, take it." He looked to the side for the right words and grinned. "Think of it as taking a short leave of absence."

"Like Draco's doing after New Years," Harry reminded them both.

Harry had reminded them both, actually, that the issue would not go away even if Harry left for a while. Draco Malfoy would not go away, and neither with that ridge he had made in Harry's heart. Remus thought, nevertheless, that a little time without Draco would do anyone some good, regardless if Harry had to come back or not.

"Do what you feel is best," he simply said, and Harry took that as a dismissal.

He walked up to the loft as if walking to his death, and Remus was sure he didn't realize he was doing it. Sighing, Remus reached out for the abandoned mop and cursed getting involved with the whole mess in the first place. He sat down sadly and heard the door to the loft slam shut. The radio started crackling, and he reckoned he needed a drink.

"I talked to Pansy, and fixed everything."

They were the first words Harry was assaulted with when he entered the room. Draco stood, leaning against the kitchen counter seeming relatively pleased with himself. Harry frowned at his random statement, and swallowed the bile that had started to collect in his throat.

His first thought was that Draco had reconsidered and ended everything. Hope enveloped him, and he wondered at it for a moment. Harry had finally realized that he'd been hoping for Draco to want a relationship with him, and that scared him more than anything. He had never wanted to get with Draco, never. Friends maybe, but a physical and emotional relationship based on need and love? Not a chance. So what the fuck was he doing hoping Draco had broken up with his fiancee?

He couldn't help the flare of excitement at the prospect, however, and he took the risk and asked, "What do you mean?"

Draco smirked at him, his handsome face creasing delicately to show off that stunning smile. "She knew it was just a tabloid, but I reassured her nonetheless." Draco was pouring a brandy as he talked. "She's not going to my father, to that I can say cheers," and he raised his glass mockingly.

There it is, Harry thought, the inevitable letdown.

"That's good. So you didn't tell her about us..."

"Us?" There was wild panic in Draco's eyes as he set down his drink with a loud clang. "There's no us."

Harry swallowed quickly. "You didn't let me finish. You didn't tell her about us, well, kissing..."

"No! Why would I?" Draco walked around the counter and sat down. "It isn't as if we're committed to each other..."

Laughing bitterly in his head, Harry wondered if Draco would ever be honest with himself.

"Besides, you're a close friend of mine. I told her that," Draco continued, and grinned. "You know that, yeah?"

"Close friends," Harry repeated, though in disbelief.

Draco, sensing some kind of oncoming diatribe, sat back and took a large gulp of his brandy.

"Close friends that fuck, you mean."

"We did not. It was a mistake, I mean, I'm engaged..."

"As we both knew very well...what the hell am I supposed to say to this?" He was floundering, right before he supposed he would snap. "Didn't we-I don't understand...didn't we?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "You're certainly articulate tonight."

Harry lost his temper, and looked down at Draco as if he had two heads. "You're such a fucking asshole!"

"I'm an asshole?" Draco asked, surprised. "I just got us out of one hell of a rut..."

"No, you got yourself out of something that you couldn't face. You went crawling back to that-that infuriating..."

"Hey!" Draco was suddenly on his feet. "Don't start on Pansy just becauseyou're jealous."

"Jealous!" He yelled, and laughed. "Oh, that's perfect. Yes, Draco, I'm jealous of your fiancee."

"Well obviously," Draco conceded. "I can see that you've grown attached to me."

"I'm about as attached to you as Blaise is attached to courtesy. You'd think you'd have more manners with all that money..." Harry said unnecessarily.

"Is that what this is about? My money?" Draco was pissed, and Harry wasn't about to take any of that. His eyes flashed beryl and he breathed in deeply.

"You'd like to think that wouldn't you? Or would you be happier knowing I had hoped we would be something more..."

Harry perhaps would never know how flattered Draco was when he said that. How wonderfully surprised and excited he had been. He would never know, because Draco stood tall and untouchable, and with that unpleasant smirk on his face he narrowed their blossoming relationship down to six words.

"Like fuck we would ever be!"

It should have been the end of the conversation, but Remus' earlier advice rang through his head, and Harry finally snapped.

"You inconsiderate son of a bitch." Not elegant, but Draco stepped back in shock at the pure, unveiled hatred in Harry's voice. It was raw, exquisite, and swimmingly intense.

"How I could I ever, think that a bastard like you could..." Harry looked away from him. Was he crying? Draco really hoped not...

Green eyes came back to him, clear and bright. "Fine. You marry Pansy Parkinson. You fucking live in your self-imposed misery for the rest of your sheltered little life...the fuck if I care."

"Oh, I think you do." They both wondered if Draco had an issue with not being able to help himself. "You're obviously upset about this."

"Obviously," Harry said dryly. "I haven't the slightest idea why, though."

"Listen, I have to marry Pansy." It was the closest Draco would get to saying he was obligated throughout the entire confrontation. "I'm living realistically here, and I don't think you understand..."

"This isn't your fucked up reality! And like hell I don't understand..." Harry could have punched him. "Do you have any idea what it's like living alone your entire life? You can't trust anyone...there's no one there for you and you can't be there for anyone else! You and all your rich snobbery..."

Harry stepped forwards and poked Draco in the chest until he was sitting back on the couch.

"Everything is handed to you...you have chances tons of people would kill to have..."

"Why the fuck are you lecturing me? You sound like you're forty years older and selling religious texts..."

"Oh, that's funny, real funny. For all your talk about responsibility you sure do a shit job of being the 'model of maturity'."

"Just shut up," Draco snapped. "Really, just shut up."

Harry surprisingly did, and turned swiftly to scoop up his backpack. He shoved whatever was on his mattress into it, and the bag bulged as he slung it over his shoulder. Draco, meanwhile, took up the mantra of 'that's fucking great, just leave' until Harry turned around to face him.

"Maybe I'll see you around."

Harry grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. Draco watched him walk out helplessly, and would only think about that conversation with shame and remorse the next day when Blaise would cuss him out over the phone.

He would tell Blaise that the entire time all he wanted to do was kiss Harry senseless. He would tell Blaise that his excuses to Pansy had all been lies. He would tell Blaise that he was sorry, and Blaise would come over tell Draco that denial could only last so long.

He watched the door slam and stayed on the couch for a long time afterward.

"I may be taking that leave of absence sooner than we planned."

Remus turned to the sound of Harry's voice, and blinked in alarm. He stepped forward, conscious of Harry's barely withheld tears. Harry looked rather unapproachable, so he withdrew his hand and nodded.

"Be safe. It's cold outside."

Harry bit his lip, and looked away.

Remus watched the artist walk out into the dark. By midnight, the streets would be covered in a blanket of snow, and Harry would still be walking to an unknown destination. His chest ached for his retreating friend, and Remus never felt more worse about being right.


	19. New Years Eve I

Parked outside of the large, extravagantly decorated building, sat hundreds of black limos. The entire street had been blocked off for the event, and outside of the main doors stood a waiting group of flashing cameras. The lights were immediately distinguishable upon arrival, just as one white limousine pulled up to the curb, and perhaps the most unlikely person stepped out.

Music drifted from inside out onto the street, and a number of men in dark slacks and pearly blazers guarded the entrance from reporters and uninvited guests. The maitre-de stood behind his podium, barely visible over the arriving crowd of stylishly dressed virtuosos. Unknown and shined to perfection, a man gracefully emerged from the white limo.

In polished black shoes and pinstriped Prada, the unknown walked nonchalantly up to the doors after nodding his thanks to his driver. The flashes were briefly at rest as he walked by, though there was one yelled 'hey!' that went ignored. The guards at the door let him go in without any scupper, and when his shoes tapped into the glittering lobby, the coat check stood rather shocked beside him. The man turned to face the maitre-de, who glanced up and raised both of his carefully sculpted eyebrows. A smile, a blush, two steps forward, and the guest list was forgotten.

The ballroom was built simply for the annual New Years Eve Gala, and was adorned in crystal lights and misty mirrors. White, circular tables, lead the glittering path to the dance floor, where ladies and finely dressed gentlemen danced in elegant gray and simple black gowns. Above them, tied carefully to each chandelier, were the ends of a net full of blue and silver balloons.

The clink of glass and drifting laughter assaulted his ears as he stood observing the party. A waiter dodged through the milling crowds and he reached out to snatch a champagne flute from the tray, but did not drink. His bright eyes were fixed on another standing luxuriously beside the long rectangular table next to the band. He watched as the blond conversed with the people around him; people in pleasantly sparkling gowns and expensive suits.

With a burst of cacophonic sound, the musicians began a song with the toot of a trumpet and percussion from the drums. The laughter increased, and he decided to venture over to the table with various foods and wines. Declining a dance with a smile, that smile, he walked forward and into the room. Eyes followed him, but their stare was of appraisal rather than disgust. He did not look like an artist tonight. His acting, however, could be called a masterpiece.

He caught sight of a familiar face wrestling with a sandwich beside a table, a brunette on his arm. Grinning devilishly, he stepped up beside the arguing couple and cast a curious eye around the assortment of foods. Nothing eatable, he sighed, and the arguing beside him grew louder.

"You could have defended my honor!" Hermione was saying.

Blaise managed to respond around a mouth full of finger sandwiches. "She only told you that dress was ugly." Hermione smacked him so hard on the arm that it made a rather loud slapping noise. Blaise nearly dropped his plate, and cursed.

"Ow! I'm sorry . . . it's just, it is ugly . . . ow!"

Smiling at his friend's slightly abusive relationship, he picked up a chicken sandwich and began dissecting it. With a sort of elegance that seemed impossible when massacring carefully catered food, he disposed of the meat as well as the lettuce, and started to scrape off the mayonnaise. Blaise caught sight of the sandwich murder going on, and was distracted from the enraged Hermione.

"What the hell are you . . . " Blaise looked again, and blinked. "Harry!"

Harry turned to Blaise and raised an enquiring eyebrow, before giving the food a disgusted glance and getting rid of it completely. Hermione and her boyfriend were staring, their faces pleasantly surprised in the evening lights. Harry smirked.

"I don't think Madison and David caters for vegetarians."

In the next second, Harry was assaulted by an overexcited Blaise. He returned the hug without shame, and when they pulled away he straightened his suit.

"Holy fuck," Blaise said, shocked, and Hermione didn't bother correcting his language. "You look . . . Fuck, you look . . . "

"Stunning," Hermione walked around him, suddenly beaming. "You look absolutely stunning."

Harry blushed.

He had gotten ready for the party with careful precision. His hair had been styled rather than simply let loose, his bangs were to the side and covering one part of his face, and the back was carefully spiked up and outward. The suit he was wearing was complemented by a gloriously red tie, and a silk black shirt underneath. The charcoal cautiously applied to his eyes brought out its bright beryl color.

He didn't look like himself, and though it wasn't bothering him, and it certainly wasn't bothering Blaise or Hermione-he still felt as if he had traded his own skin for someone else.

Blaise on the other hand, was completely and utterly impressed. Not only had Harry crashed the Madison and David New Years Eve Gala, but had crashed it in style. A style he never thought he would see in the artist. Though, it certainly fit him, Blaise thought, and boy, Harry knew how to pull a suit off. He knew how to stand in a suit, and fuck, Blaise wanted to ask Harry spin in a slow circle. Ask Harry to dance.

"Fucking . . . Harry," he had to say. "You're making me want to be gay."

Hermione hit him again, but it didn't matter. She was as impressed as he was. Harry was more than beautiful, and words failed her to describe how mind numbingly gorgeous he looked. She decided to simply put a hand over her heart and mock faint.

"My hearts all aflutter."

Blaise gave her a sideways look. "Don't ask me where that's from. Say, what are you doing here?"

Smirking, Harry placed his champagne flute on the table and straightened up. "Well I was invited."

They both laughed, if a bit hysterically. "That was before Draco messed you up and you left four days ago. You had him in a right fix," Blaise provided.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I had him in a fix."

"Oh, but Harry," Hermione placed a hand on his arm. "You know he's madly in love with you. He told Blaise that he was just afraid and that he didn't really want to marry Pansy."

"Well sure, but I don't see him leaving her any time soon," he said bitterly. His eyes found Draco still standing at the head table, talking with what seemed to be a client of his. Pansy was sitting a few seats down and chatting mildly with another woman.

"Speaking of which, has Draco seen that you're here?" Hermione asked mischievously, and Harry couldn't help but smile.

"No, and I don't want him to see me just yet." Harry pulled at his suit, looking over shoulders to see the object of their conversation. A waiter came by to gather food for his tray, and Harry was pushed out of the way with a muttered sorry. They walked a bit closer to the dance floor, and Blaise dropped one of his sandwiches.

"Fuck!" He yelled, gaining the attention of about three tables of people around them. Hermione glared at him.

"Harry," she said, casting a very annoyed glance at Blaise. "You simply must get in touch with Remus. He's very worried about you."

"He's worried?" Harry bit his lip.

"Well yeah," Blaise bent down to scrape the sandwich up from the floor. "Everyone was. I was."

"Don't you dare eat that."

He looked at Hermione like she was crazy, and straightened with determined eyes back on the food table. "So where'd you go, anyway?"

Harry shrugged. "Stayed with a few friends. Didn't do much, otherwise."

"So you didn't leave so that things would cool between you and Draco, huh?" Blaise asked skeptically. Turning away from him, Harry picked up a grape and chewed.

"No comment."

He turned his eyes onto the dance floor, and watched the dancers with interest. Harry suddenly smirked as Draco lead a woman onto the platform. His insides were squirming as he observed them walk together, with Draco's charisma on full blast. He looked down at his shoes cautiously, but decided to go for it anyway.

"Hermione?" She was dragged out of her lecturing and into green eyes. "Would you like to dance?"

They shared an understanding, and he let her grab his arm as they walked forward. Blaise looked up and waved the rest of his bread around.

"What about me?"

He hadn't danced in a very long time, least of all to Big Band, but didn't mind all that much as long as he improvised. Hermione was light on her feet, and she smiled up at him as he raised an eyebrow at her. She was wearing simple gray, nothing ugly about that, and Harry suspected Pansy was just being mean, and Blaise obnoxious. He twisted her into a turn and stepped back as she stepped forward.

Couples danced around them with a swish of their dresses, and he listened to the music as it carried them across the floor and closer to the table. Harry brought her close to his body and then out again, and she smiled.

"Draco really is sorry you know. When I first heard what he said to you, I was so angry. You should have seen Blaise."

"I didn't mean for everyone to get worked up," Harry said meekly.

"Yes, well. We like you Harry, and naturally if Draco's being a jerk . . . "

He turned her again and brought her close. "He's always a jerk."

"True." She sighed a bit dreamily. "You do know this is all terribly romantic?" Harry turned red.

"Me coming back even though he's still with another person, is romantic? Sounds more like stupid . . . "

"Well it's that." She tilted her head in agreement. "But more you crashing this corporate party looking absolutely beautiful and sweeping him off of his feet."

"I haven't yet," he said, laughing.

"Oh, but you have." She turned them around, so that Harry was facing the other way, and staring directly into wide gray eyes. Eyes that held nothing but pure, unveiled desire.

Harry stepped close to Hermione again, and continued to stare as those eyes traveled down his body and back up to his face. Draco's dance partner chattered on even as they swayed in one place. The lust seemed to overtake him, and Draco stepped out of the girl's arms and forward, just as Harry turned them both around and ended the dance. He smiled.

The music changed, and they were suddenly back at the food table with a disgruntled Blaise.

"Oh, did you see his face?" She smoothed down Harry's suit and sighed dreamily. "Swept him right off his feet."

"I can't believe you crashed the Madison and David New Years Eve Gala." They both heard the capital letters in his statement. "I didn't even crash the Gala back when I wasn't invited."

"I can see why this is the first year they let you come. Are you just going to eat all night?" Hermione asked. Blaise looked offended.

"It's free! Hello? Free!" Which didn't make any sense since Blaise had about as much money as Draco. "Actually, put this in your purse . . . "

Blaise managed to stuff three finger sandwiches in Hermione's gray hand bag before she blew up at him. Harry smiled as he watched them, and cast a look at the doors leading to the back lobby. The lobby leading to the elevators, and up to the offices. The vision of upset gray eyes still stuck in his head.

Draco Malfoy had to endure four days of hell, up until he saw Harry dancing from across the room. Four days of Remus ignoring him, of Blaise staring at him in disgust, and four days of his own guilt eating at him. The words he'd used that night ran through his head over and over, and wouldn't leave him or his ego alone. He felt like a complete jerk.

He'd known the moment Harry hadn't shown up the day after for work, and when Remus had snubbed him on his way out, that Harry had hit the road. For how long, he honestly couldn't tell, and he wasn't getting any reassurance from anyone else either. Blaise had decided that he was lower than dirt, and chose to talk to him that way. Which, upon deeper thought, he supposed he deserved.

Blaise had then told Hermione, who refused to acknowledge him on the way to the Gala. He didn't really miss her useless conversation, but being ignored was something a Malfoy wouldn't tolerate. He wasn't angry so much at Blaise and Remus, but more at himself than anything. It was a new feeling that he didn't particularly like.

It was therefore a huge surprise and a very great relief, when he saw Harry dancing with Hermione at the Gala. He hadn't expected Harry to come, and the fact that he did was a direct 'fuck you' if Draco ever saw one. Not to mention the fact that Harry was having a better time than he was, and it was his party.

To top it all off, Pansy was being Pansy the entire night. She was mad at him over something that he wouldn't even try to understand. When she got complicated, Draco wondered why he didn't just scream he was gay the moment he had popped out of the womb. But then, hell, he wasn't gay, was he? He was a bisexual. Not around Harry though. Harry made him gay.

His thoughts grew more scattered as the night progressed. As he watched Harry's slim body walking insouciantly away from the dance floor . . . in that stunning suit with those stunning eyes. Draco wanted to run over there and grab him into a passionate and fiery kiss. Then maybe make sweet love on top of the sandwiches (though he doubted Blaise would appreciate that).

All he had to do was get Harry to talk to him, but when Draco looked he didn't see his roommate anywhere. Fear crashed through his naval and up to his throat, and he swallowed forcefully. He hoped Harry wouldn't leave without letting him say something, anything. He grabbed a glass from a hurrying waiter and gulped down its entire contents. He would need it.

When Hermione eventually stopped yelling at her boyfriend, they looked around for Harry and didn't see him. They both figured he'd gone to torment Draco, and set off for the head table. Draco was absent as they walked up, and Blaise saw Pansy craning her neck to look for him. Blaise sat down next to her and poured himself a drink.

"So how's that rock on your finger treating you?"

Pansy looked at him coolly, but her eyes betrayed her intense dislike. "Better than the one you're planning on giving her." She pointed a red fingernail at Hermione.

There was an awkward silence where he sputtered, Hermione blushed a brilliant red, and then Blaise closed his eyes and looked away.

"Thanks a lot, Parkinson."

Hermione stared at him warily. "When . . . um . . . "

They were all distracted by the arrival of Lucius Malfoy, who sat three chairs down from them and was instantly served a glass of wine. Blaise gave Hermione an apologetic smile, and Pansy turned deliberately away from them.

Narcissa Malfoy sat to Lucius' right, in a sharp suit with her beautiful blond hair in a tight bun. The dance floor filled up and the band continued to play, and yet there was still no sign of Draco. Blaise sucked up his disappointment and gave Lucius a hearty wave from down the table. Draco's father smiled at him a bit painfully and turned away. A tap on his shoulder made him turn around and meet familiar dark eyes.

"Where's Draco?" Severus asked in a no nonsense tone.

Blaise shrugged. "Ran off with Harry, I should think."

"What?" said Pansy and Severus at the same time. Blaise grinned at Pansy, aware that she had been eavesdropping. He turned back to Severus and raised his eyebrows.

"Harry showed up."

"He looks absolutely gorgeous," Hermione added, with a malicious smile at Pansy. Severus seemed amused, though Draco's fiancee looked as if she was about to spit fire.

"And now Draco's missing." Good on Severus, Blaise thought, he's playing along.

"Too right. I mean, who could resist Harry Potter in a tuxedo with that sexy smile and his artistic tendencies."

Pansy slapped down her napkin and got up. Her heels clicked as she stormed away from the table, and Blaise and Hermione watched her leave gleefully. When Blaise turned back to Severus, he was suddenly frowning in deep thought.

"What's the deal?" Blaise asked.

Severus looked away, before shaking his head. "Did you say Draco's roommate's last name is Potter?"

"Yeah, he . . . "

Interrupted again, they all turned to stare at the two body guards that had strutted into the room and toward Lucius. They were close enough to hear the guard say something about a disturbance in the lobby, and Lucius tell them dryly to take care of it. The security guards left, talking through the headset radio with assertive authority. Blaise got up, but Hermione stopped him.

"I want to see!"

"Every year," Severus gave a suffering sigh. "There's always a drunkard trying to get into the Gala."

"Why are you so late, Severus?" Hermione asked, trying to distract Blaise from causing trouble.

Severus' mouth twitched upward a bit, and if it wasn't such a strange expression for him, Blaise would have never noticed. "I was with Remus."

"Looks like Harry and Draco aren't the only one's getting attached to each other . . . " He nudged Hermione, who smacked him.

"Yes well, I must talk to Lucius about that."

"Oh, don't ruin it for them, Severus!" cried Hermione. "I know Lucius won't accept Harry right away..."

"No, it is not about that, Ms. Granger."

"Well then, what...?"

Draco came rushing towards them suddenly, with Pansy hot on his tail. He was wearing a black suit with a white tie, his hair pulled back and his handsome face slightly turned down in annoyance. Pansy caught up to him, her scowl fierce and full of hatred.

"Have you seen Harry?" He asked them very suddenly.

Blaise laughed, and Hermione kicked him. "No Draco, we haven't seen him. We assumed he was with you," she smiled innocently.

Severus, seemingly tired of their squabbling, made an about turn in favor of talking to Lucius. He could still hear them fighting when he finally got to the blond man and sat down in his son's empty seat. They were both silent, and Severus watched the ballroom with a healthy amount of distaste. He had spent the afternoon with Remus in Central Park, and if anything that had given him patience for the gala. Severus planned on leaving an hour before midnight so he could spend New Years with someone that mattered.

"An abysmally dramatic party as always, Lucius."

"I can hear them going at it as well," the other man said laconically. "What is it now?"

"That roommate of Draco's," Severus accepted a glass of champagne and sneered. "Incidently, he's shown up and caused a fuss between your son and his bride-to-be." He sipped his drink and put it down with a small disgruntled hum. "You can't ignore these circumstances forever."

Lucius glared at him, his expression stony. "As you have explained to me before, and as I have answered within my own logical reasoning-Draco will not be involved with some nonconformist hippie. That is my final-"

"Oh, please Lucius, the boy's in love."

"With Pansy, as we agreed."

"No," Severus affirmed coldly. "You have simply decided for your son that his own will does not matter. That who he cares for, truly, doesn't matter."

Setting down his glass very carefully, Lucius gave Severus a very patient glance. "Draco will find his way."

"And if it means following his heart rather than his head?"

Severus had never been so blunt before, though if there was one person that would seen him open up it would be Lucius. They were good friends, colleagues, and partners. Lucius, in all his glamour and intrigue; Severus in his silent simplicity. Like Draco and Blaise balanced each other, so did Lucius and Severus. It had always been so, and even though his friend was remaining stubborn over his own son's feelings, Severus knew Lucius would listen to him. If only because it was Severus and no one else.

Narcissa motioned for her husband with a raised eyebrow, and Lucius drained his glass.

"I believe it is time for me to dance with my wife," he said, nodding to his friend.

He turned away, but at the last minute decided to add in his last words. "I know what is happening with my son. But he is still that, my son. Whatever decision he makes, he will have me by his side regardless. Company be damned."

A rare smile flitted across Severus' face, as he watched as Lucius give his arm to his wife. They danced, and suddenly Severus wished he had Remus there to exchange a look with. Remus, who had warned him not to be too rude and had straightened his tie before he'd left.

Draco suddenly sat down beside him heavily, sighing. He raised one eyebrow and turned to his godson.

"Well?"

"This is a mess, Severus," he said. "These last few days have been hell."

Severus ate a piece of chilled bread and sat back in his seat. "Why so?"

"Remus won't talk to me, did he tell you?"

"No," Severus took a sip of his champagne. "He chose not to mention how exactly you messed up this time."

"I was horrible to Harry. He's here you know...Severus...he looks amazing. Not that he didn't before," Draco looked around. "Now I can't find him. What if he's left again? Before I can say something at least. I won't apologize, naturally, but if I can break the ice..."

"Perhaps you should go find him."

"I just tried to, but Pansy caught me at the door and started screaming that I was cheating on her. In front of all those journalists as well!"

"How unfortunate," Severus sighed. "You had best repair what you've broken, Draco. Your father won't tolerate it."

"Yes, I know." Draco got up once more. "I think Pansy went into the lounge. This is so bothersome."

Severus gave him a look and Draco started to leave before his godfather could say anything. "Yes, yes, I know. My fault in the first place. Still not apologizing..."

He watched Draco leave and turned to glance at Blaise, who was stuffing his face with finger foods. Hermione sat patiently next to him.

The entire Gala seemed to be going off without a hitch, and as Lucius and Narcissa finished their dance, there was a burst of applause. Severus looked around at the glittering chandeliers and shining lamps in distaste. He glanced up at the balloons in the net above him, and he was suddenly quite lonesome. He got up with the resolve of going back to Remus' shop.

Harry didn't want to fight, he was a pacifist for fuck's sake, and yet Draco was ready for a confrontation the moment he had walked up and interrogated him rather rudely. He was also in a horrible mood, and not in the least ready to make a public scene. Draco, however, had absolutely no tact. He had come to the party with the purpose of showing Draco Malfoy that he couldn't hurt him, and that he could be the somebody that Draco was looking for.

He'd rented that stupid suit for the soul purpose of impressing the Malfoy heir, and in return Draco had been his usual rude, cruel self. Now they were attracting attention with their heated conversation, and all Harry could think about were his own blushing cheeks and how wonderful Draco looked in that black suit.

"Look, I'm sorry, alright? Just don't fucking leave again."

The comment had caught him off guard. He hadn't been able to keep back his resentment, and had turned the conversation away from Draco wanting sympathy, and back on how it was his fault he had left in the first place. Needless to say, he was getting a bit angry.

In an attempt to stop people from staring at them, Harry made a beeline for the door. Draco followed him closely.

"You just show up, and expect me to end it right here..."

Harry got to the front steps and turned around. "End what?"

"End it with Pansy!"

They were in front of the reporters again, who looked as if they'd hit the jackpot. Dozens of flashes went off as Harry huffed and walked down the steps. When Draco made to chase after him, he was blocked by the paparazzi, and his head spun from the camera flash.

"Just wait...Harry!"

Harry kept walking at a relatively fast pace. He had a small inkling of how ridiculous they looked, with Draco running after him and the reporters streaming after them with cameras clicking and pens running across notepads. Harry shook his head and kept going, walking past limos and street lights-hearing the pounding of feet behind him like the pounding in his heart.

He knew Draco would eventually catch up with him, though when he did he was still slightly surprised. Draco grabbed him by the arm and spun him around, and he made to object.

"Just...wait..." he panted. Harry waited patiently, before giving the reporters an odd look. They seemed to shrug right back. He turned back to Draco, who had finally caught his breath.

"I don't want to marry Pansy."

It wasn't in the least bit coherent, and had come out of Draco's mouth in one long stream of air. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"I don't want to marry Pansy." That there, was rather articulate, and Harry tilted his head. I already know that, it seemed to say, but do you want me?

Draco looked down into Harry's green eyes and suddenly smiled. "I want you...for you..."

Panicked, Harry motioned towards the reporters, but Draco waved it off. "I want all of you...because," and he paused. "Because I'm not very happy."

He must of looked confused, and Draco laughed a bit hysterically. "And you...you make me happy."

That doesn't make any sense, Harry shook his head.

They fought incessantly, they bugged and bothered each other on purpose, they hated each other. Where was there love in hate? The answer he assumed, was right in front of him. Draco wanted him, and hell, he wanted Draco. But there were too many factors...too many things that were left unsaid. Secrets...lies...Harry turned away from those disappointed eyes. He suddenly knew what he had done. He had lead Draco on...he shook his head again.

"Please," Draco begged. "I don't care that you're goddamn mysterious...that you're fucking annoying..." Harry had to smile at that. "I don't care that you're a vegan and that you hate leather and suits and me..."

"I don't hate you," Harry said very quickly. He suddenly realized how cold it was, and he crossed his arms over his chest. Cars flew by them, and they could hear the music from the Gala start up once more.

"Good..." Draco ran a hand through his hair. "Good."

"But...Pansy..."

He watched as Draco gave a very frustrated groan and raised both of his hands to the sky. He turned around, making sure Harry and the reporters could hear him.

"I'm not marrying Pansy Parkinson!" He shouted. "I'm not marrying Pansy fucking Parkinson!"

He turned back to Harry and shrugged. "There, I've said it."

Blushing furiously, he looked away. "You're so confusing."

"What's so confusing about this? Harry please..."

"If this is just about sex..."

"What? No!" Draco frowned. "Do you want me to say it? I lo-"

"No, that's okay!" Harry stopped him quickly, nervous.

They stared away from each other for a moment, scared to say anything more that might mean they were...sensitive. Harry realized suddenly that he'd left his coat back in the building. He shivered, and Draco looked down at him.

"We should go back," he suggested.

Though the walk back was even worse, considering they had to go through the shocked and disappointed reporters. "Where's the kiss!" Was their general complaint, though they had enough dirt on Draco now that one kiss didn't seem to matter. Enough had been said.

The Gala was still raging as they walked back inside, and Draco put an arm around Harry's waist and guided him back into the room. It wasn't midnight yet, and Draco didn't plan on waiting around so that Pansy could make more trouble for them. Sure, blame Pansy, his inner voice said, and he scowled. He couldn't stay upset with himself for long, though, because something had changed. He hadn't lied to Harry. He wasn't going to marry Pansy Parkinson.

"Severus."

Lucius stopped him just as he was getting up to leave, and he turned around and walked to where his friend was standing. He was talking to a large man in a black shirt, a man Severus had only been introduced to once as Goyle.

"Tell me Severus, what is Draco's delightful roommate's name?"

Startled, Severus thought for a moment, before Blaise's words came back to him very suddenly.

"I mean, who could resist Harry Potter in a tuxedo with that sexy smile and his artistic tendencies."

"Potter," he said. "It seemed familiar, he seems familiar somehow..."

"Yes," Lucius smiled, though it was too intense to be pleasant. His eyes searched across the floor until they found Harry taking his coat from the maitre-de and leaving with Draco. Severus raised an eyebrow at that, but turned his attention back to Lucius.

"Surely you remember that face, Severus?"

Severus narrowed his eyes, and suddenly recognition flitted across his placid features.

"Tell me you remember our old accountant, James Potter, and his lovely wife Lily Potter." Lucius arched one blond eyebrow. "That, is their son."

"A charming coincidence, don't you think?"

They turned at the slow, calm voice. Severus felt his frown dissolve into a perfectly controlled mask, though inside-he was raging. The man stepped forward, a dark haired woman on his arm, and Lucius nodded in acknowledgment.

"Riddle."


	20. New Years Eve II

Late night Manhattan, driving down streets at above the speed limit; neon lights from signs so much brighter and the air cold with the last strength of December's chill. The windows rolled down, blacked interior on a moving sports car, ten minutes stuck waiting for an alley party to disperse, and the horrible awkwardness of things begging to be said. None of these events were in Harry's mind when he pictured where he would be on New Years Eve, fifty minutes until midnight. He hadn't expected it, and he didn't appreciate it either.

He wasn't quite sure what his plan had been when he'd decided to go to the Madison and David Gala, and though in some ways the night had been productive, he couldn't see a plausible reason as to why he would risk such a thing. Heart had told him to go, and head said it was a good idea. So, Harry had left Seamus' crummy apartment early that day, had rented a suit that despite his own disgust, looked wonderful on him, and had gussied up to meet his Prince Charming. Not that Draco had been charming in any way.

And that was why he was waiting in a line of traffic, folded into the passenger seat, and gazing out of the window wondering what the hell had happened. Draco's words from before flashed through his mind, as if mocking him over and over. Stupid words that made it hard not to be angry at Draco for constantly messing up. The factors of what Draco had done, continued to pound into Harry's head, but he doubted Draco even realized.

Without a doubt, Pansy and Draco were now over. Forgiveness would not come from his ex-fiancee for the public humiliation his repudiation had caused. Harry knew he would never forgive Draco if that had happened to him, even though he didn't care about mindless media, he would hate Draco Malfoy forever and always. Regardless of Pansy being horrid, he felt bad for her and the headline that would print in the morning; that would ruin her reputation.

The fact that Draco would so carelessly cast her aside, worried Harry. It made him anxious and angry because it just as easily could have been him. Was Draco Malfoy that arrogant that he would think he could do whatever he damn well pleased to make himself happy? Was that kind of person, good for him? The answer to Harry's deep and profound question, lay in the heart rather than his messed up head.

Draco was uncharitable, rude, bigheaded and self-centered. He didn't understand compassion, and he couldn't pretend to comprehend another person's pain. He had the social skills of a business shark, and the expectation of a little kid who had gotten anything and everything he had ever wanted. In retrospect, Draco was the last person Harry should have ended up with.

There was a middle ground somewhere, because Draco was also passionate, ambitious, clever, and sometimes but magnificently romantic. He was also so sure of himself that Harry felt safe around him, and playfully competitive. Feelings Harry hadn't felt in a very long time, always washed through him when he was around Draco, since he was a person that simply demanded a reaction. Harry had to give him that, because in all honest truth; there was a balance in the pleasant and unpleasant. Harry was only a bit in love with that balance.

Now, waiting for the light to change and listening to the before-midnight cheers coming from outside of the car, Harry could barely dredge up any feeling but unhappiness. His temples hurt from weighing the reasons why he should still be angry and upset. Though he had many of them, bringing them up while driving back to the loft on such a wonderful night was uncalled for. He knew the confrontation would happen the moment they stepped back into the apartment, though.

He dreaded that conversation. The conversation where Harry wouldn't be able to stop himself, and he would simply have to ask Draco what he thought he was doing. The entire situation was madness, and Harry took a moment to properly analyze everything. It was crazy. He let out a little laugh.

"What?"

Turning toward Draco, having forgotten they were in a car together, he gave a tense smile. "Just thinking. You know, you could make a detour down 74th?"

"Yes, I know, thank you."

But Draco didn't make the turn, and they continued to inch down the street with the sidewalks packed with people celebrating the New Year. Wine glasses were out, a few sparklers here and there, and the entire populace of Eastside New York seemed to be having a better time than Harry was at that moment. Even the redneck republicans with the flag shirts and bald heads were having fun, Harry thought as they passed a bunch of them huddled in a group of jubilation. Fuck all, as Blaise would say.

He was damn angry, and he swore the moment they entered their shared apartment, the little 'Draco's not that bad' act would end. Finite...no more. Draco was going to get a piece of his mind. With that resolved, Harry sunk down into his seat and stewed as they made their way home.

Draco didn't efficiently give him the chance to stew, since he tried to make small talk after Harry's route suggestion.

"Don't people have better things to do than hold up traffic? It's freaking New Years!" he said.

Even though Harry said he wouldn't do it, he jumped at the chance to say shit instead of sugar. "We're in this line as well. Maybe their thinking that we're crazy for holding them up."

"That's ridiculous," Draco objected immediately. "We're way more important than they are."

"You're way more important, huh?" Harry glanced at his nails. "So get out of the car and shout you're Draco Malfoy if you think it would get us home faster."

Suddenly narrowed gray eyes glared at him. "We'll just have to be patient." Draco's fingers were white as he grasped the steering wheel. Harry watched them in fascination.

"Patient? You're the one jumping out of your suit."

To prove his point, he smiled and brushed his off the lint on his shoulder. Draco clenched his teeth and stared at the car ahead of them.

Harry thought it was hilarious that Draco would attempt to talk to him, when it was obvious that the tension between them wasn't disappearing. In fact, it was getting worse, and if Draco was that tactless again (in which Harry found that word described him perfectly) then there would be quite a bit of yelling going on.

The funny part about Harry's resolution, and what a strange one for New Years, was that he had been so ready to not get into a confrontation and to simply give up on Draco. He'd been perfectly willing to act like Draco wasn't there until he'd been married off and would move out. Harry had prepared himself for that ever since the day he'd learned that Draco was bound to another. It hadn't bothered him then, and it didn't bother him now. He only wondered when that acceptance hadn't been enough...when he'd started to involuntarily want more.

He wanted more. Despite Draco's obvious flaws, and regardless of his own completely different past. He wanted to be able to say that Draco was his. He wanted a hand to hold, and someone to argue with, but with a safety net behind him that meant that whatever he said, love would forgive him. Relationships weren't one of Harry's strong points, hell, he'd only really been in about two. The others were trysts maybe, but a real and honest relationship? He wanted that with Draco, which was ironic, since Draco was a less than perfect candidate.

He didn't know how long it took to get back to the loft, and time seemed to have extended just for the purpose of making the awkward tension shift to 'rising storm' on the emotion monitor. All he knew was that Draco slammed his car door, and that had pissed him off, and that Draco had stomped inside, and he had silently rolled his eyes.

Harry walked into the shop through the garage and was surprised to see a group of scattered people standing around. He supposed if he had stayed the past four days, he would have known that Remus was having a party. He heard the door to their apartment slam, and assumed Draco had gone upstairs to wait for him. He sighed, and looked around for Remus.

"Hey, Harry!" Dennis called. Even through his annoyance, he managed to smile back at the teen. He walked a bit unsteadily over to the counter, and cursed having rented the suit. He was sure he looked mortifying.

"Wow," Dennis said, circling him. "You leave without any notice, and come back looking like Draco! What's he done to you?"

Harry laughed heartily. "What hasn't he done? How are you, Dennis?"

"I'm fantastic," he said, surprisingly. "You didn't hear, did you? I was transferred one year up for 'district requirement reasons'. I'm in the school down the street now."

Shocked, Harry blinked at Dennis, who grinned. "You're at a different school?"

"Yep! There's older guys there, the best and the brightest. They're real nice though, and friendly..."

"How did this happen? I mean, that's wonderful Dennis."

Dennis grinned. "I know, huh? After Colin left, back to UC, I was called into the principals office and he told me I'd been transferred. My parents didn't care much...mom was happy..."

Harry looked down at his shiny shoes and smiled. Sincerely thrilled, he put a hand on Dennis' shoulder and shook him gently. "This is great, yeah?"

"Yeah," Dennis nodded.

Something inside of him properly snapped, and Harry truly laughed. He didn't care that Dennis was glancing at him like he was crazy, he just knew, suddenly that the fight had left him. He was sure he could gather it back up in time to face Draco, but it had to be a sign. It simply had to be a sign. As a firm believer in hints from a higher power, Harry was endlessly amused at this turn of events. So amused, he broke into a fit of giggles.

Dennis couldn't help but join him, and soon they were both laughing for apparently no reason. Harry's side hurt and Dennis was leaning on the counter for support. It had been a long time since Harry had laughed so hard.

"What did I miss?"

They both turned to Remus, red in the face, and immediately dissolved into hysterics again. Harry managed to control himself enough to shake his head and wipe a hand across his eyes.

"We were just laughing, I think, kind of randomly," Dennis waved a hand at Remus, who smiled and turned to Harry.

"It's good to see you."

Harry grinned. "Sorry for leaving like that."

Remus raised one shoulder and looked at him in amused disbelief. "I gave you leave. You don't need to apologize. Though, I did just see Mr. Malfoy go upstairs in a horrible mood. I think you could make up for your absence by filling me in."

"And me!" Dennis raised his hand. They looked at him. "What? This is better than daytime television."

So, partially for redemption and partially to make Draco wait, Harry told them what had happened at the Gala. Several people had come up to Remus to talk, but they'd been shushed and ignored until Harry had finished. He doubted they were sober enough to be hurt anyway.

When he finished, there was a shocked silence between the two, and Harry waited patiently for them to explode. He wasn't disappointed, and Remus and Dennis both talked at the same time.

"What does he mean it's over?"

"Are you together?"

Harry smiled and nodded. "He means to tell me it's over, and we're only together if he hears me out."

Remus leaned forward. "What are you going to tell him?"

"What I should have told him ages ago," Harry said poshly. "That he's a bastard and that he needs to grow up."

"Do you think he'll listen?" Dennis asked, and Harry gave him a look.

"Yeah, and I'm an in-closet conservative."

Remus laughed. "It's worth a try, though," he paused. "Are you two getting together?" The 'finally' was insinuated rather pointedly.

Thinking that he should have been asking himself that all along, Harry glanced away. He wanted Draco, yes, he would admit that. Draco was very handsome, and in regards to sex (from what Harry had already experienced) he was sufficiently skilled. Harry wouldn't deny that he'd thought about Draco kissing him for ages, thought about how it had felt and how he was sure there was nothing more lovely than having that particular person share something so intimate. It also helped that Draco could kiss, as well.

He couldn't help but picture that lean body on top of him, his own hands that itched to run across smooth fabric and up silky skin. He remembered the feel of their torsos connected and his own body reacting to soft moans and sweet touches. He felt embarrassed thinking about it so suddenly, but didn't mind since he was still a guy, and they were prone to thinking about sex sometimes.

"I don't know," he settled for that.

Remus wouldn't be placated, however, and he shook his head. "What about his terribly trite confession in front of millions of reporters?"

"Oh, don't exaggerate, there were only six. Or maybe seven." Harry bit the side of his lip. "It may have been more than that."

"Okay, so?" Remus waved his arms about. "By morning the tabloids will be screaming that Draco broke it off with Pansy for you. Considering that crazy Malfoy upstairs just ruined his celebrity status, I'd say you two should get together!"

Dennis nodded as well. "Has a point," he mouthed. Harry glanced at the stairs and shook his head. "But is he really good for me Remus, really?"

"You're a match made in heaven," said Remus, and Dennis as well, "You're meant for each other!"

Which cleared any doubt about that up, Harry thought. Before he could object a bit more, a girl ran up to them and squashed Remus with a hug.

"Remus! And Harry...how are you?"

Angelina's eyes glittered in amusement as she looked him up and down, smiling. He remembered that he still had that stupid suit on, and sincerely wanted to go upstairs if only to change. Remus looked amused that she was there, however, and he laughed.

"Guess who told the press about you and Draco?"

All eyes turned to Angelina, who blushed accordingly. "I hope you're not angry, Harry. I just couldn't help it, really."

He wanted to be a bit angry, but it had pushed them in the right direction. Even if things had been wonky afterward. He couldn't blame Angelina for doing it, since it paid to sell people out, and Harry was all about earning money. He refused to follow that line of thought to the intense amount of baggage on his conscience, and chose instead to politely excuse himself. Remus and Dennis gave him comical looks of encouragement, waving him on and giving him an encouraging thumbs up.

The stairs creaked as he tripped up them, and he swallowed audibly. You can do this, Harry told himself, you can so do this. He was half-tempted to turn around and cry, "I can't do this!" but he refrained quite nicely. Suddenly feeling calm, he walked the rest of the way up the stairs nonchalantly, not noticing the amused eyes of Remus and Dennis that followed him, or even of his own devastatingly sexy swagger.

He walked inside and closed the door, immediately assaulted by a very good looking Draco Malfoy lounging across the sofa. So much for his sexy swagger, and he felt himself indulge in a short intermission of self-loathing.

"Damn it!" he said out loud. Draco lifted the hand he had over his eyes and scowled. "How am I supposed to be mad at you, when you do stuff like this?"

"Like what?"

Instead of elaborating, Harry floundered for a second. "You...you. You! Thinking you can make everything all right by talking to Dennis' principal!"

Draco smirked, but that only made Harry angrier. "Oh," he said. "And I suppose you think I'm just going to forgive your stupidity and have sex with you on the floor!"

"Did you want to?"

Harry walked over and grabbed a pillow from the couch. He throttled the very shocked Draco upside the head repeatedly. The soft thump of cloth meeting blond hair was a little too euphoric for Harry to continue with it for long, and when Draco had finally had enough, they were both flopped onto the couch and tired.

Shaking his head, Harry looked up at the ceiling and groaned. "I'm still mad at you." Wisely, Draco didn't say anything.

"I can't believe you did that to Pansy," Harry said, turning to face him. Draco raised both of his eyebrows and made a low sound in his throat.

"I thought you would have been pleased. Oh, and I don't seem to remember you trying to stop me..."

Harry frowned. "Watch it. You're losing points. And anyway," he waved a hand. "I just realized that you basically rejected her in front of a million people."

"Honestly, a million people..."

"No really," Draco's eyes followed him as he sat up. "Did you even talk to her before you came running after me?"

"I'd think you'd be a bit more grateful that I've gotten rid of her. You did want a relationship, yeah?"

They stared at each other, with Draco's hand still over his forehead defensively, and Harry leaning forward with his eyes wide. Harry didn't think there were plans of atonement going on in that blond head, and figured that one blunt question was all he was going to get. What a complicated question that was as well...and Harry was instantly conflicted. Suddenly, he felt like jumping up and telling Draco his entire life story...from his first words, across every art show and party, and onward through the people he'd met and loved.

Which was absurd. Harry never told anyone anything about himself unless he couldn't help it. Telling people things meant making yourself vulnerable. It meant letting others know a bit about you that might not necessarily be so great. Harry hated confiding, because whenever he did he always got embarrassed afterward, and the person he had told usually didn't react well.

He hated being embarrassed over something he'd said or did. Because then it meant that he had acted dumb. Like times when he'd tried to impress someone and everyone had known he was trying to impress them. It was all hodgepodge anyway, and he took a moment to look away from Draco and around the loft. What was he doing?

"Yeah," he managed to say. He felt Draco nod.

"That's what I thought. That's why I did what I did. I planned on telling her first thing tomorrow. But hey, you know, she's a bitch."

Harry laughed. "She's not the nicest girl in the world. But a lot of girls aren't nice. In fact, I think girls like Pansy are why I'm gay."

He said it with such sincerity that Draco had to chuckle. Lounging without much care, inert and undecided, they stared into space and contemplated their fates quietly. Harry just knew he was in for trouble, and he sighed.

"So, how about I take you out to the movies tomorrow night?" Draco said to the silence. Harry lolled his head over to the side and stared.

"No. I'm still mad at you."

Draco threw his hands in the air, and vaulted up from off the couch. "What did I do now?"

"The same thing as before," Harry said confusedly.

"What was that?"

"I don't remember."

Another staring contest, this one only about two minutes, and Harry snapped his fingers. "Oh yeah! You were a complete asshole to me on boxing day. In fact, no I don't want a relationship, not until you get your priorities straight!"

Scoffing, Draco shook his head. "What? I just...Pansy...what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you being in denial land four days ago, oh, five..."

Harry's eyes were on the clock, and Draco turned to stare as well. New Years Eve had passed without them noticing, and if they listened properly they could hear the cheers from downstairs. Harry dropped his head into his hands and suddenly felt like going crazy. He wanted to be down there as well, he wanted to be out with friends, and he wanted to do things that he used to do. Back when he was delinquent and a beginning artist. Back when he had three felony B&E's and two accounts of possession of narcotics.

Back when nothing mattered except having one hell of a time.

He looked at Draco, who looked at him. Draco had never experienced such fun times. Draco had been raised in Madison and David's shadow of wine glasses and pompous business owners. Draco hadn't lived.

"On second thought," Harry decided. "I'm not mad at you."

Draco perked up. "You're not?"

"No," he shook his head. "In fact, how about I take you out tomorrow night. No movies. You, and me, and what I want to do."

The glance Draco gave him was decidedly anxious. "This won't cause me physical pain, will it?"

He thought for a moment. "How well do you know how to dance?"

Draco looked pained, and Harry grinned.

Remus listened for the door to shut to the apartment above them, and smirked when he heard the soft click. He turned to look at Dennis beside him, and raised an eyebrow. Dennis shook his head, laughed, and hopped off the counter.

"Those two are so cute," Angelina said, excitedly.

Remus pointed a finger at her. "You." He accused, "I can't believe you sold them out."

"Oh, one of us had to do it Remus," she scoffed. "Plus all that came out of it was good, yes?"

"What if it hadn't of been good..." Remus said airily. "What if a rabid fan reading the tabloids decided that Harry was competition, and shot him one day as he was walking down the street!"

Angelina laughed. "You have an overactive imagination. I never would have endangered our little artist. Do we have any avocado for these chips?"

The party he had told a few close friends and acquaintances he would be having, hadn't been planned as a large one. Unfortunately most of the people Remus knew couldn't keep their mouths shut, and wanted to be in on the scandal as well. Apparently his nursery was the talk of the eastside populace, who, as it were, had nothing better to do than stick their noses in other people's business. Though having been around Mrs. Sprout for so long, Remus was kind of used to it.

His shop was therefore more crowded than he intended, though it was blessing enough that he knew most of them. They had all pretty much seen Draco Malfoy rush upstairs, and Remus had thought it was hilarious that Harry hadn't noticed the staring. Speaking of which, Harry had looked particularly nice...

"What was with Harry's suit?" Dennis asked, eating some deviled eggs a bit hesitantly.

"I think he was trying to impress Draco," Remus guessed. It was the only reason he could find for Harry going completely against his law of style and wearing Prada...

"Oh," Dennis wiped a hand on his jeans. "I think he did. Draco looked kind of red in the face, and you know, they were in that car driving home...bet they hit traffic."

Remus nudged him. "Eat your eggs."

He was briefly distracted by an incident at the food table, and he could bet his entire IRA account that Sirius had started it. Sirius had shown up, which was a lovely change for Remus, and they had gotten ready for the party together. Before then, Severus had been over, and he and Sirius had enjoyed a very civil conversation about Remus...and some rather revealing things they both found quite funny. That had been embarrassing, in fact, Remus didn't want to think about that.

They were two very different people however, which made Remus wonder about his own ability to choose partners with good character. He was rather egotistical about his skill, and Severus and Sirius had made fun of that as well. The party had been a hit so far, and he was having a good time. Severus said he would make it back before midnight, maybe to share a kiss, but there had been no sign of him yet. And it was...two minutes till...

"Dennis, don't drink any more of that wine," Remus scolded. "I'm going to be driving you home, and your mom is going to wonder why you're wasted."

"It's New Years!" Dennis retorted from across the room, and turned back to Sirius (who Remus supposed had to get a minor drunk at least once a night) and motioned for more.

The clock struck one minute till, and everyone turned to face it, kicking a mess of red and blue balloons that Remus and Dennis had blown up, across the floor. The laughter increased, and the talking became a loud buzz, and eventually they were all counting down the last ten seconds of the year. As cheesy as it was, Remus had fun anyway, even if Severus wasn't there...

"Happy New Year!"

An abnormal amount of streamers and horns appeared out of nowhere, and Sirius came over to him and gave him a long hug. "Some fucking year, huh?" Sirius said bluntly.

Remus smiled, and their attention was diverted to the large cake that Mrs. Sprout brought out, conveniently without the date and with a rather ugly duck on it.

"They hired a tard at the grocery store and he thought it was Easter," Dennis explained. He took a finger full of icing and Mrs. Sprout hit him.

"Remus, Remus," she suddenly bounced over. "Did I hear Harry and Draco come in a moment ago?"

"Where were you?" Remus asked. "Yeah, they're upstairs."

"Doing what?" She said it so loudly that a number of people turned. Remus sighed.

"I think we all want to know," Angelina said from across the room. "Something must be happening, yeah? It's New Years!"

Which spurred another rousing, "Happy New Year!" in the wake of her announcement. Remus gathered some food from the table and sat down on the comfy sofa that Mrs. Sprout had generously donated for the party. Sirius plopped down next to him and received a long lecture about feeding kids alcohol. The party continued on, and Remus' attention was completely diverted with the arrival of Severus Snape.

Severus, who looked pale and drawn, and considerably annoyed. Remus gave his remaining food to Sirius, who was attacked by Dennis, and walked over to the morose looking man. Severus saw him and immediately gave a smirk, which Remus had learned a long time ago was his odd way to smile, and apologized.

"I'm sorry I didn't make it, Lucius Malfoy held me up with the rather abrupt disappearance of his son..."

Remus smiled. "They're upstairs. Angelina swears they're doing something."

"Please, I don't need that image just now."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, and Remus observed him worriedly. "Are you alright?" He asked.

"Yes, I'm...just a little perturbed with the Malfoy family right now."

"Oh no," Remus shook his head and grabbed onto Severus' arm. "Draco's made up with Harry, it seems, so they can't be that bad."

Severus let his arm fall to his side, and looked away. The noise that had disappeared around them, now came back with a new volume.

"No," Severus finally said thoughtfully. "It's more than that...it's something that happened a long time ago, that I had forgotten..."

"What is it?" Remus asked curiously. Severus was talking weirdly. "What happened?"

Seeming to have shaken himself out of his stupor, Severus sighed. "Never mind. I don't suppose I get a kiss even though I missed the minute."

"You do, promise," and Remus smiled, even though he was still rather worried. "So, how was the party?"

They walked together over to the sofa and sat down, and Severus told him about the disaster that was the Madison and David New Years Gala. Just as Harry had said, Draco had humiliated his fiancee in front of about thirty reporters. Lucius had been less than happy, and according to Severus' very valued opinion, the entire thing had been a complete waste of time.

Remus was sorry to hear that it had been a bust, though he wasn't sorry that Draco had come to his senses. He'd never met Pansy Parkinson, but had heard from Blaise, Harry, and Severus that she wasn't the loveliest person in the world. They had all agreed, however, that she was beautiful, and that had been their basis for belief as to why Draco was still engaged to her. Remus still remembered Blaise and Draco having that conversation in his shop a few days ago, that completely killed that theory.

"I mean, it must be because she's good in bed, yeah?" Blaise was teasing.

"That's such a rude thing to ask. You don't ask that."

Blaise scoffed. "We're men, hello, we need to know."

"If you must know then, Blaise," Draco said as if he was in pain. "I've never had sexual intercourse with Pansy Parkinson."

All that rot about pin dropping silences and random crickets for awkward situations was true...Remus and Blaise had been completely silent.

"What!" Blaise finally exclaimed. "No wonder you rutted with Harry the first chance you got!"

Remus couldn't help but laugh at that, even though he had decided not to join in on the conversation when Draco had come down. At the time, he had been ignoring the blond quite competently. Since Draco had evidently made a scene and declared his love for Harry, Remus was all set to welcome the idiot back with open arms.

In a moment that completely warranted a 'speak of the devil' Draco and Harry came down the stairs one after the other. Harry was, unfortunately and still fortunately, back in his faded jeans and black sweater, with his hair wild and back to normal. Draco had changed out of his suit as well, and settled for slacks and a white dress shirt. They did, indeed, look lovely together.

Severus, Remus noticed, did not take his eyes off of Harry as they walked over. Neither could most of the room either. The whole 'a celebrity is here' atmosphere had immediately turned up the excited jabbering in the room.

"Happy New Year," Harry greeted with a smile. A smile, they all noted, that was much more relaxed than earlier before.

Dennis and Sirius came out of nowhere and sidled up to their group, and by the way Sirius' eyes glittered as he watched Harry and Draco, only affirmed that Dennis had filled him in on the gossip. Mrs. Sprout was still handing out cake, but there was no doubt that she was watching them curiously as well.

"Happy New Year," they said back.

"What were you two doing up there?" Dennis asked without pause. Despite Remus' own ashamed shake of the head, his ears had perked up at the thought of some information.

"We were changing," Draco said shortly.

"Changing...showering...together?"

"Dennis!"

"Together!"

Harry laughed and walked away to gather some food onto a plate, leaving Draco to be harassed by their friends. Severus gazed at Draco rather seriously when he asked about his father's reaction. Which meant, "Don't you dare ask me, Draco Malfoy."

The most reassuring remark out of Severus' mouth, was, "You're off now for New Years, you've already gotten it approved. I doubt your father will be in contact with you for a while."

If that wasn't backhanded approval, Draco didn't know what was. Remus smiled at Severus proudly, and Harry brought over a plate of lettuce that he was immediately made fun of for. They all pretended not to notice the short glances cast in between Harry and Draco, as if the only person they could look to for an internal monologue was each other. They were improving, that much was obvious.

"So are you two together, now?" Sirius asked, picking a chip off of Harry's plate.

Sadly, Harry looked at Draco for the answer. Remus knew he really didn't want to be hurt again. The look on Draco's face was enough for Severus to scoff and shake his head. Draco lifted one shoulder and inspected a carrot from off of Harry's plate.

"Yeah, I'm involved with a fucking vegan."

The New Year started with a gloriously cliche ball drop and a whole lot of drama. Remus Lupin wondered what had led him to that particular place, with those particular people, and at that important time. He was glad he was there though, but suddenly realized he hadn't made a New Years resolution. Something to give up? Not really. There was no longer anything he needed to let go of, and he smiled.


	21. Head Over Heels

The only lights that lit up the street were from the cars ahead of him. A long stream of flashing red made up the traffic as he drove, in slow bursts of speed, down the lively road. His hands twisted around the steering wheel, and a cool breeze blew his blond bangs across his face. Draco clenched his eyes closed and continued to drive as best he could under certain emotional circumstances. The steady pulsing about his eyebrow was annoying him greatly, and the traffic didn't improve his temper much either.

A car in front of him stopped suddenly, and he nearly avoided a collision. He sat back in his seat and sighed. Mind and body both feeling worn, he looked around his motionless car helplessly as the traffic stopped all together. He didn't acknowledge the yelling the drivers, and hid his head in his hands.

Dealing with Pansy was always somewhat of a hassle, but their last encounter was possibly the worst he'd ever had. The more optimistic part about their fight: it was likely that he would never speak with her again. She had been outraged by the papers that had been published the next morning, which had made Draco out to be a man suffering from repressed love, and Pansy the evil 'arranged' bride. It had been humiliating for her, Draco could concede, though he had made the mistake of saying that it had been rather embarrassing for himself as well.

Surprisingly enough, the 'Draco Malfoy is gay' bit was completely bypassed in favor of going after their failed relationship, and the fact that Pansy was an absolute witch. It hurt her more than it had Draco, and for that he was slightly remorseful. Slightly. Draco had therefore gone to Pansy's apartment that morning, intent on straightening out their relationship for the better. What he had gotten was an earful of accusations and tears.

He had never seen cold-hearted, malicious, untouchable, Pansy Parkinson cry. The moment he'd stuttered out, "Pansy, I'm sorry..." she had gone into hysterics. Draco had told himself that her tears weren't real, but the force of her great sobs made him unfortunately realize that her heartache was genuine. Well shit, he'd cursed, and then tried to comfort her, but she had flinched away from him. It had hurt, as all of his breakups eventually did, and Draco found he was truly sorry.

Not once, during the entire debacle, however, did he think he had made a mistake. Pansy was a beautiful woman, as was she clever and cunning. Her slightly disparaging attributes included: ugly sarcasm, mean spirited cruelty, and her general happiness in being undyingly superior. Sure, Draco admired someone with confidence, but Pansy Parkinson had enough ego for both of them.

When she had started to cry, so abruptly, Draco hadn't known what to do or what to say. Part of the reason he didn't date women was the fact that they were prone to being highly emotional. Not that men weren't either. He, himself, liked to have a good yell when his own frustration had reached its boiling point. Pansy's tears had been so upsetting that Draco wondered for a moment if he'd gone soft, before he realized that his concern wasn't a crime.

For all of her horrible characteristics, Pansy Parkinson was still a person. A person he'd grown up with and bonded to in a sort of way that made them half-friends. She was a constant that he was sad to see going, and all because he hadn't ever loved her. But she had loved him, as evident as it was with her honest pain. She had sincerely loved him.

Draco rolled up his window and adjusted the radio. Ice still coated the sidewalks and street lights, though the snow had stopped. The roads were no longer slippery, and his mind subconsciously stopped worrying about driving in the frost. He pulled forward a bit as they started to move, and rubbed his temple with one hand-his thoughts tumultuous and guilt-ridden.

He had yet to talk to his father, but he just knew there would be disappointment on that end of the line as well. He wondered when all of his decisions had become so wrong. He wondered why being with Harry was so bad. In comparison to Harry, well, Pansy just didn't compare. They were so different, and each had warming endearments (Pansy not so much) but either way, Draco had found the decision between them hard. He wanted to know why he couldn't be normal, and not the famous heir to a billion-dollar corporation.

Never daring to even think about that, he was suddenly taken back by the magnitude of his thoughts. Did he really want to take over Madison and David? He hadn't wanted to get married, and that had ended, however disastrously. He had gotten out and rented a loft, lived on his own and made new friends. Friends with people, until very recently, he would have never even considered associating with. Draco was thinking, for the first time in his life, of just saying no to whatever it was his father wanted him to be.

His resolve was shoved aside in favor of the heavy shame that still rolled around his chest. He had left Pansy still crying, after she had called a friend to come over. It had been an ending, because the moment she'd shut her apartment door he'd known he could never go back. There would be no 'just friends' between them, and for that Draco was immensely sorry. He'd never really thought about having lots of friends before, because his playmates as a kid had consisted of Blaise, and well, Blaise. Now, after getting to know Remus, Harry, Dennis, Hermione, hell, even Mrs. Sprout-he couldn't seem to get enough of them.

Pansy was a bitch, but as friends, it would have been amusing to have seen her being a bitch to everyone else. Draco sighed heavily, scolding himself for his own maddening thoughts. She had looked rather lovely all blotched with her mascara askew and her hair down and wavy. He would miss looking at her. Though...the word beautiful brought two faces in mind, and Harry's visage was as clear as day.

Harry. He closed his eyes and smirked. Harry, the artist who had stolen his stupid heart and replaced it with an open canvas. His very own vegan and earth child activist. The two of them were complete opposites, and yet they worked so well together even at the worst of times. Harry was the most infuriating person he'd ever met...the most attractive guy he'd ever set his eyes upon, and in general...he was everything Draco was looking for.

He'd found himself, only a day ago, looking at the date in wonder. Had he only been living in the loft for four months? In that time he'd completely changed, he'd taken a few steps forward, a few back, and then fallen in love. It took a lifetime for some people to find their Harry, and Draco had done it in four agonizingly frustrating months. Dealing with soy, paint everywhere, loud acid rock in the mornings, untamed ebony hair, and god knows what else Harry said or did. Four months, and he was utterly enamored.

Draco wondered if the feeling was mutual, but that was a rather depressing thing to think about. Pansy had given him a bit of hope, at least.

"You're wonderful, and sweet, and I-I can't stand that I love you, but you don't love me. It always happens this way. People love you, but you don't know...y-you're such an idiot!" She'd screamed at him through great eruptions of tears. She'd also called him an, "...egotistical mother fucker..." and told him to get his head out of his ass. Well, so much for confidence.

Either way, he figured even if Harry wasn't serious about their newly-formed relationship, he would still take all he could get from the elusive Mr. Potter. A thought that only proved just how much Draco had changed. He was much more open to things, and was less sheltered than he had used to be.

All thanks to Blaise, , that was something he didn't want to think about. He could just hear his best friend's maniacal laughter as he moved a Draco-like pawn in front of a Harry-shaped queen. Thank god, Draco suddenly thought, alarmed, Blaise can't even play Chutes and Ladders.

"Fucking come on," Draco muttered to the immobile traffic. Ahead of him, he could see the outline of a person having a similar breakdown in their car, though banging his head on the dashboard didn't seem like something Draco would do. No matter how many Pansy fights he'd been in.

He snapped his head over to the window, looking out at a few loitering people in front of a bar. Yeah, no more Pansy fights. He grinned. Yeah, no more shopping for wedding crap. Yeah, no more being tied down like a sacrifice to Pansy fucking Parkinson. Hell, he was a free man. Free to say what he wanted and do what he wanted. And he wanted to do Harry. Well...maybe not in such crude language, but yeah.

Draco nodded enthusiastically to himself, having reached a long awaited epiphany, and turned up the radio and rolled down his window. Life was good, what the hell was he moping about? He was free, and he was healthy. He was even rich! He started singing along with the song blaring on the radio, feeling as if he could take on the world. So what if the guilt was still there? Better to stop a marriage that would ruin two lives than let it happen and have regrets as well. Regrets sucked. Life was good.

"Yeah!" He burst out unexpectedly. The loiterers looked at him for a moment, before raising their bottles and hollering as well. "Yeah!"

He shook his head at himself. He must be absolutely mad, but it felt good to be crazy once and a while. Was this how Harry felt?

Feeling suddenly fabulous, Draco flipped open his cell phone and dialed Blaise's number. He'd never really called Blaise voluntarily before, but he'd just had such an amazing insight into his life, that he felt it was an appropriate time for disclosure.

Blaise answered the phone the same way he always answered the phone, and 'happy' Draco appreciated his charming demeanor.

"What?"

"Blaise!" Draco chirped, and there was a shocked silence from the other end. "Draco Malfoy, is this the Draco Malfoy?"

"Of course it is, Blaise, shut up for a second and listen..."

"I saw you in the paper! Well you're always in the paper...but this time was especially special, do you know why Draco, darling?"

"Yes, I know, Harry and I..."

There was screaming and yelling on the other end of the phone, and Draco moved the phone away from his ear. The traffic moved a teensy bit, and he juggled with his phone and the wheel. "Blaise," he tried over the noise. "Blaise!"

"Yeah, I was just telling Hermione the stellar news."

"Did you just say stellar?"

"Yeah, I've decided your goddaughter's name will be stellar."

"Quit saying that, and what's this about a goddaughter?"

"Metaphorically speaking, of course. His and/or her name will be stellar."

"Yes, sure, I'm positive their names will be fantastic," he said quickly. Blaise sighed heavily into his ear, and he could hear Hermione speaking softly in the background.

"No, no. His and/or her name will be Stellar. We'll call the guy just regular old Stellar, and the girl, Stella! It's fucking genius, isn't it?"

"I'm not naming my children after an astral body!" Hermione, Draco thought, sounded slightly miffed.

"Who says I'm having Stellar slash Stella with you?"

"Blaise!" Draco and Hermione both said, and there was his best friend's malicious laughter once again.

"Listen," he tried again. "I've come to a conclusion!"

"Eh, eh, Hermione. Draco says he's come to a conclusion!"

Draco rolled his eyes, and nearly hollered out loud in relief when the traffic dissipated as the street branched off. He briefly looked at the accident that had held them all up, and turned away. The three cars had gotten into a rather nasty pile up, and Draco glared at the offending automobiles.

"Draco? Draco!"

"Oh, yeah. Hey, I went to Pansy's..."

"What happened?"

"We're completely over now, there's no wedding..." did that sound a bit too gleeful? He frowned, "She was really upset, Blaise."

"Who the fuck cares! No more Pansy! No more Pansy!"

Whether Hermione had taken the phone away from, her boyfriend, or had gone to another room and picked up the other end, Draco didn't know, but suddenly he was talking to a very excited Ms. Granger.

"Oh, Draco, really?"

"Hey. Yeah. What happened to Blaise?"

"He's skanking on top of the kitchen counter."

"Tell him not to fall..."

There was a pause. "Already did."

"Anyway, yeah, it's officially over. She gave me the ring back and everything."

"Did you take it?"

"No, of course not. It was tailored to fit her, and it was more of a gift than anything. I wouldn't ask for it back."

He could almost hear Hermione bite her lip anxiously, even though it was more his imagination that anything. "That was good, on your part." She finally commented.

Draco merged onto the thruway and started to head home. "Doesn't mean I'm not upset...but I did have a sort of epiphany."

"What's an epiphany?" Blaise's voice trailed into their conversation, and Hermione huffed. "You're on speaker now, Draco. Blaise, go look it up. I can't believe you graduated from high school."

"I can't believe you graduated from high school," he mocked her.

Rolling his eyes, Draco tried for what must have been the hundredth time. "I think that life's finally okay for me now."

"That's great Draco!" Hermione said excitedly. "It's Harry, isn't it?"

Hardly the sentimental 'confessions' type of guy, Draco was very apprehensive about admitting that to anyone other than himself, so he said, "That, and partially because I've never gone against my father on anything before. It feels great."

"You're such a rebel Draco!" Blaise teased.

"Harry's taking me out tomorrow night, I think we're going dancing."

"Ooh, you should so tango. Better yet, go to a redneck salsa club so you scandalize people..."

"Do they have redneck salsa clubs?" Hermione asked Blaise disbelievingly.

"Yes, yes they do!"

"You're full of crap Blaise. There's no salsa dancing. I don't even think Harry's into salsa," Draco snapped.

"Harry likes what I like!" Blaise provided, and Hermione sighed. "Well, you know, not the whole vagina thing..."

"I just wanted to call and tell you it was over, and that I felt fantastic," Draco said quickly. "I'll call you both tomorrow."

"And tell us about the date, right?" Hermione prompted.

"Yeah, sure."

"Remember to pick up some form of lubricant on the way home!" He heard just before he snapped his phone shut. Draco shook his head fondly, and got off of the highway.

He was considerably happier than earlier, though the twinge of guilt was still there, and would be every time he envisioned Pansy's tears, though he did feel better. He was content for one of the first times in his life. He grinned as he drove, and eventually pulled up to the shop. There was a dim light on in front of Customer-de-lis and Draco acknowledged the kind gesture as one from Remus; who expected Draco would be home soon.

Parking his car in the garage around the back, he locked up and noticed that a smile seemed to be permanently fixed on his face. He didn't even bother to wipe it off as he entered the shop. Remus was still awake, and cradling a cup of hot chocolate as he digested a paperback. He looked up when Draco came in.

"You're back late," Remus commented mildly.

"Yeah, traffic was murder. Where's the artist?"

"Upstairs." He marked his place in his book, and grinned. "I don't think he's asleep." Remus observed him for a moment. "What's with the smile?"

Draco frowned. "I'm not allowed to smile?"

"Don't get so defensive."

"I'm not def-oh, yeah, shut up."

Remus laughed lightly. "Got you. Anyway, what's got you into a good mood?"

"I might as well tell you, huh?" Draco said more to himself than Remus. "Yeah, well, I've just realized that I'm finally free of my arranged marriage, and that I'm happy for once in my tragically unsatisfactory life."

Remus raised his eyebrows. "Sounds like daytime television, but yeah, that's great."

"I'm just-feeling good. I feel like I could do anything I wanted and there wouldn't be any consequences. Call me cocky, but it's honest, and well, I'm allowed to be egotistical because I'm a Malfoy, of course..."

"Draco..." Remus stopped him and smiled. "I'd say you were in love."

"What?!"

"Madly, completely, head over heels in love." Draco stared as he nodded enthusiastically. "This is hilarious."

Draco threw his hands in the air. "I was just explaining my revelation, and you psychoanalyze me and say I'm in love."

"Well, aren't you?" Remus asked smartly.

"No."

"Right. But you know, Draco, I think Harry loves you as well. That's hard for him, you should realize. He's quite distressed."

"I don't care if he's distressed," Draco marched toward the stairs, scowling. "And if he's in love with me, I'm not surprised, I am devastatingly attractive..."

He stomped upstairs, missing Remus' muttered, "And I didn't think he could get any more arrogant."

When Draco reached the door to the loft, his ego deflated a little bit. Seeing Harry after such thought wrenching revelations seemed difficult all of the sudden. What if something happened and all hope was lost? That was how it worked, wasn't it? Rejection. Always a possibility.

Draco creased his eyebrows and shook his head. Opening the door was easy enough, though he was surprised when he walked inside, that Harry was nowhere to be seen.

Confused, he plopped his keys down on the counter and loosened his tie. Harry's mattress was rumpled with blankets and books and such, and a finished canvas was propped up next to the refrigerator. What caught his eye immediately, however, was the still-wet square, painted on the wall facing the stairs to the roof. It was simply a patch of white paint, and below it there was a tarp laid out and a newly washed roller.

He wondered at it for a moment, before looking around to see if Harry had meandered into his own room, until Draco noticed that the ladder up to the roof was down, and made for that instead.

The air was cold and it stung his face when he reached the top. As he had expected, Harry sat in a chair facing the outside world, with his eyes closed and his body slung over the deck chair. The sight was rather sweet, with that lanky body (covered in paint) flopped all about. A blanket was spread haphazardly across Harry's body, and his hair moved back and forth with the breeze.

Draco stepped forward, and winced a bit at the tapping his shoes made. Harry's eyes fluttered open, and he scrunched his body into sitting position, pulling the blanket closer to his body.

"Hey." Harry greeted him drowsily. Draco smirked.

"You know, it's cold up here."

"I'm looking at the stars, dimwit." Harry said affectionately, gazing up. "Did you know that it takes thousands of light years for a star's light to reach us? So those are the stars from thousands of years ago..."

Draco tried to wrap his head around that, but was distracted. "Blaise wants to name his kid Stella."

Harry gave him a very alarmed glance. "I hope not. No one will take him or her seriously."

"Any kid of Blaise's won't be taken seriously," Draco folded himself in a chair next to Harry and smiled. "In fact, I think it's better if Blaise doesn't procreate at all..."

Laughing, Harry nodded in agreement.

They fell into a peaceful silence, and Draco leaned his head back to look at the sky. If what Harry said was true (not that he doubted the crazy ass vegan) then those stars were actually the stars from thousands of years ago. And the stars that those thousand-year-old people were looking at were from thousands of years ago as well. It made him sort of understand the word 'infinity' and think about the vastness of the universe.

Naturally, that lead to deeper thoughts, that most people chose not to think about because it was so entirely complex. The sky, to him, looked as if someone had wrapped the earth in a huge black blanket and poked little holes into it. He smiled.

"Pansy and I broke up. For good."

Harry was silent, and Draco turned to look at him. Beryl eyes that seemed endlessly bright, even in the darkness up on the roof, stared at him nervously. Those eyes squeezed shut, and Harry looked away. Their silence was now so intense that Draco felt his chest seize up in pain, and he was suddenly on his feet.

He walked over to the edge of the roof and looked down, where street lights lined the road, and cars were parked and still. Draco would not be rejected. He feared it would happen, and it would not be so. Not with Harry. This was real.

Confidence came to him from seemingly nowhere, and he walked up to Harry's chair and leaned down. Surprised lips gasped open beneath him, but neither were inclined to pull away. Draco placed his hands on Harry's shoulders and awkwardly moved forward. He tilted his head to the side, a motion that suggested deeper contact, and kissed Harry thoroughly.

The pain and tension disappeared when Harry started to kiss back. A hand came up to hold onto his cheek, and he felt Harry's arms reach around his neck and push them closer.

Falling asleep on the roof was something Draco would usually find strange. A lot of things Draco used to find odd and simply unacceptable, were no longer quite so bad. Even when he awoke in the morning with Harry's leg slung over his, as they both lounged in the deck chairs that had been moved impossibly close, he felt no immediate alarm.

The blanket that they had shared had kept them warm, and the air was crisp and cool. The greatest thing about sleeping on the roof (despite waking up to a brilliant sunrise) was the likely chance that Harry would be sleeping up there as well.

The cement thrummed beneath their feet with the force of the loud music. Draco pushed his jacket closer to his body and breathed in the chill. He and Harry waited patiently behind people dressed in charcoal black. He fidgeted in the clothes he was wearing, since he had insisted he know what to dress as, and in answer, Harry had given him clothes to wear. The jeans were a bit small, but Harry assured him that it was the way they were worn.

His hair had been slicked back nicely, and the black blazer and white shirt he was wearing clashed terribly with the denim. His shoes were matched well, however, and he found himself looking at them now and again, and then turning away, because Harry had given him red socks to wear. Otherwise, he'd thought that he looked ridiculous.

When they had arrived, however, he had blended in perfectly. Harry didn't change anything about what he was wearing, much to Draco's consternation, and he still looked like he belonged. With his paint smeared jacket and simple black tee-shirt with Converse, Harry looked fabulous even in exactly the same sort of clothes he wore every day. Or maybe Draco was just in love.

The line moved up slightly, and he and Harry stepped forward. He gazed at the hair in front of him with raised eyebrows; it was a person, but the person's hair towered way past Draco's height, while the man was extremely small. Harry had just barely stopped him from touching it, and for that he was grateful. It looked sort of greasy.

The music inside The Brigg, suddenly grew so intense that Draco could see the cigarette butts beside him vibrating. He frowned and looked around, alarmed.

"What are they doing in there?" He inched toward the doors curiously, and Harry grabbed his jacket and pulled him back. The bouncer in a bright yellow jacket scowled, and Harry smiled charmingly.

"It's a sort of dance club, Draco." Harry whispered to him, and they settled back in line. Draco craned his neck over the people in front them, but could hardly see anything, thanks to the guy with the hair.

"Why is it so loud?"

Harry grinned. "Because it's not like Pearl."

"I noticed," Draco said, scowling. "This place is in a warehouse. It can't be sanitary."

A few girls behind them were staring at them, and Harry tugged on Draco's arm. "You'll have fun, and I'll show you how to dance."

"I know how to dance," he objected, offended.

"Not the way they do it in here." They moved forward and the lethal looking bouncer wrapped a tag around their wrists. "Just don't get socked in the face."

"What?!" Draco yelled, and then chased after Harry and into the warehouse.

They walked down a hall tagged with insignia and random splashes of paint. Neon green lights lit the floor as they followed the 'hair guy' down into the club. Harry clasped his hand and lead him along, and he felt a smirk make its way onto his face...despite his fear. When would he get socked in the face?

A blast of music assaulted his ears when they arrived in the room. Draco wondered about the weight capacity in the room, since there was so many people squished together and...jumping. Harry smiled at him and lead the way over to the bar. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the bartender, a girl who wasn't wearing much, and had numerous holes in her eyebrows, nose, and lip. Harry nudged him with his elbow and asked him what he wanted.

When they got their drinks, the band had just ended and Draco took advantage of the silence. "What was with her?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Harry frowned at his drink, and then looked up. "Oh, you mean her appearance. I don't know. They're crazy. We're just here to dance. I think she gave me water."

Draco and Harry walked over to the floor in front of the stage, and waited with the other clamoring bystanders. Draco swallowed down his drink nervously and placed the empty cup on a table next to where they were standing. Harry, noticing that he seemed anxious, wrapped his own hand with Draco's. The act was enough to make the blond swoon, and he grinned back at his boyfriend.

Well hell, they both thought as the next band came out, and Harry gestured them over to a corner. There, he taught Draco the art of slamming. It didn't seem that complicated really, all he had to do was swing his arms around while doing an odd version of the running man in between fast and furious kicks. There was a lot of leg movement, and head bobbing, but the true art (Harry told him) was the fact that it let out any inner aggression he had inside.

"You don't have to know how to dance to slam...just move. There'll be a jackass who won't like you being in his territory, so all you have to do is..." Harry swung his arm around enthusiastically, and motioned as if he'd obliviously hit something behind him. "Knock him right in the face, and you'll have a circle clear...then you do this..."

Draco had never laughed so hard in his life when Harry started dancing. He had seen Blaise dance like it before, but he had never realized it was actually considered a dance. Harry did look good while he was doing it, though, and he was a rather fabulous dancer. If they were still in the 1980's of course.

When the band began to play, it was such upbeat and happy music, that no matter who he was or how badly he danced...he just had to move. Draco was immensely proud of himself when he'd managed to stick with Harry as they ran around with the crowd. It was hilarious to both of them, and they barely contained their hysterical laughter as they watched the hair guy cut circles into the floor.

At one point, just as Harry had said, one guy tried to shimmy right into his area. Draco thought for a moment, and then decided to try out the move that Harry had shown him. He put one foot in front of him, bent it a little, put his head down and clenched his hand into a fist. He got the guy in the face with one swing, that eventually evolved into a side step.

He was so excited that he forgot about the guy with the now bloody nose and hopped over to Harry. "I got him right in the face!"

Harry smiled, but it slid off his face comically as he looked at the guy Draco had pummeled. Draco looked as well, and nearly died. They hightailed it out of there, the large and deadly looking crazy person hot on their heels. Draco pushed at Harry's jacket as Harry hopped over the chord that barred them from the outside. They ran down the street, laughing, and eventually stopped.

Draco glanced at Harry, panting, his eyes bright and gleeful. He had never had so much fun in his life. He'd never smashed in someone's face before, and he'd never danced so well. He felt fabulous, and Harry was giving him that look. That look that suggested that he'd done well.

"Some date," he commented.

Harry's smile vanished, and he breathed in deeply. "Sorry about that. They really are crazy in there."

"I loved it," Draco said briskly, and Harry looked at him disbelievingly. "No really, it was great. I've never had that much fun."

The smile, that smile, lit up Harry's face. "Let's get some coffee, yeah?"

They walked down the street, their hands clasped, as cars moved passed them in silent acceptance. Calm now, after their little jaunt out among the rockers, strolling quietly to nowhere seemed like the best moment Draco had ever experienced. The cold on his cheeks reminded him that his hands were warm (because Harry was holding one of them) and he planted a smirk on his face and glanced at Harry, who blushed. An almost overcoming urge to hug the artist suddenly enveloped him.

He had never been one to appreciate physical contact, and he always thought that he would have to find the perfect person to properly experience it with. Harry was rather perfect, so that would explain his incredible want to simply touch. And nothing sexual either...the act of touching someone out of pure need was something Draco hadn't believed in, until right then. Perhaps it was affection. Perhaps Draco was in love.

Harry pointed out a café and Draco nodded. He smoothed down his blazer and smiled for a second at his ridiculous clothing. Harry had assured him that he looked great, and that had been enough reassurance by far. They walked into the café and sat down underneath the heater. Two coffees later and a request for soy cream, and they were finally thawed.

"Did you see the paper this morning, anyway?" Draco asked companionably as he fixed his beverage. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"No. Is that why you left so early?"

Draco nodded. "It was all about you, Pansy and I, and our sordid affair."

Harry choked on his drink, and coughed. "We were in the paper. Me?"

"You?" He smiled. "Well yeah, Potter. Didn't you notice all of those reporters swarming around us on New Years?"

"Oh, shit."

Frowning, Draco asked, "Your picture wasn't in it...they mostly focused on Pansy and I. Does being in the paper bother you that much?"

Draco was fearful of the answer. Harry being upset about the media was bad, because Draco would always be followed around. He would have to deal with it for the rest of his life, most likely, and if Harry couldn't handle that...then there would be no 'rest of his life' and 'Harry' in the same sentence. The thought scared him more than he would like to admit.

"No," Harry, thankfully said. "I'm just not fond of being out there for everyone to see..." he seemed to ponder for a moment. "But I'll deal with it...I know you can't help it and I won't stop seeing you just because we're being followed by vulturous meat eaters."

Relieved, Draco smirked. "Come on, Potter. You don't know that they aren't vegans."

"Oh yes," Harry scrunched his eyebrows together. "I'm generalizing, aren't I?"

"Stereotyping, assuming...all of the above."

"Everyone does it, so I don't see how it matters." Harry took a sip of his coffee, and Draco wrapped his hands more firmly around his own cup. "How are Remus and Severus, anyway?"

Subject change! Draco's mind flashed at him. He acknowledged Harry's worry about the press deftly, and dived into the subject of his godfather and his boyfriend. Apparently, they were getting on splendidly, and Harry mentioned that they were definitely fond of each other. Remus seemed happier, according to Harry, and Severus would often come by the shop to simply have lunch with the botanist.

"He's going back to Kenya for a few weeks," Draco said placidly. "Does Remus know?"

"Yeah, he knows, and it's all gushy every time they see each other now..." Harry scrunched up his nose in mocking disgust.

"You like it..." Draco teased. "You're a pacifist. Peace, love, and harmony rock your world."

"Peace, love, and harmony?" Harry laughed. "Don't say that to Blaise, he'll think they're names for his children. Like Stella..."

"Oh, that was hilarious..."

Draco told him about their phone conversation, and they both agreed that Blaise was completely insane. The night dragged on, and they enjoyed another cup of coffee together as they talked. Harry explained the white paint with a smile on his face.

"I'm making a mural, and taping it. It's called an installation. It's going to be in my next show."

The idea made Draco smile, and seemed so completely Harry-like that he instantly approved. Harry had no idea what he was going to paint, and had explained that he really didn't need to know. He usually saw what he painted one at a time, or so he had elaborated, and his art was usually created by his mood. Draco tried to understand it, just like he tried to understand light years.

It went over his head, and even though he felt ignorant for not understanding...acceptance was enough. He looked at Harry, sitting across from him, talking enthusiastically about his upcoming art show, and finally knew the honest truth.

They walked back to the car, and Draco stole Harry's words away with a kiss. The touch of soft lips underneath his own was electrifying, and he pulled away with a grin. Harry blushed, and he put the car in drive. Tonight, he would sleep with Harry on his lumpy and uncomfortable mattress, because if anything, it would be warmer.


	22. On Lust

The sun warmed his cheeks as he walked. He passed building after building, as each gap in between them meant a dash of sun on his body, until the light wandered into shadow. With his backpack slung over his shoulder, and a list of groceries in his pocket, Harry strode down the street towards the market. The stands were open with fresh fruits and vegetables, and Remus had requested he buy some knowing how much Harry enjoyed healthy foods.

His shoes were getting worn and the loose rubber made his feet scuff on the sidewalk. Harry stretched his jean clad legs out and lunged for the curb after crossing the street, eager to get to the market. He felt more energetic than he had in quite a while, and he very nearly ran the rest of the way.

He pulled his sweater closer to his body and blew the hair out of his face, just as a burst of sunlight peeked past a large, metallic building. Often times he felt justified hatred towards industrial establishments, but on that day-everything just seemed to fit. He couldn't even dredge up the anger to properly glare at the oil-consuming automobiles that filled pointless peoples lives with artificial happiness. He didn't even stop and admonish the hot dog vendor about bad meat and public disclosure! Surely there was something wrong with Harry Potter...

The strange bit about his sudden change in character, was that there wasn't anything at allwrong with him. He felt content, and oddly pleased with the world. Why acknowledge the bad things? He'd spent so much time pointing out mistakes that people made, with the environment, with politics, with human life, health and moral ethics, that he had forgotten entirely what it all meant. Perhaps, he'd found himself thinking, the world is meant to be imperfect? But Harry the vegan never thought that way.

He finally reached the market, and just as his mind's eye had promised; it was a veritable feast of nutritious foods. He briefly wondered if Draco would tolerate a lettuce wrap and some organic wine, and promised the blond (in his head) that he would buy some regular milk and a chicken breast later. He'd have to pick it up with recyclable gloves...but he was sure he could manage.

Saying hello to the man running the praline booth, he contemplated making something that Draco could eat. As much as it made him seem like a house wife, he was happy to be cooking for someone who would appreciate it. He'd had experience, courtesy of the Dursleys', in concocting large dinners for his whale of a cousin. He never told them that he rather enjoyed cooking...lest they think he was more a 'poof' than he already was.

The Dursleys had been the absolute masters of hitting where it hurt, and when Harry had moved to Rhode Island, he had never been so thankful. It had blistered, their sending him away, but he had caused trouble for them. He was dead clumsy and broke everything, he got into fights with Dudley and his school teacher kept having to call home about his odd habit of climbing onto the roof.

Most of his teachers said it was the dramatic effect of his parents death. Maybe it was, Harry didn't know and didn't care. Many had warned the Dursleys' to treat Harry kindly and comfort him when he needed it. Their advice hadn't helped, in fact, it had made living at Number Four Privet Drive astonishingly worse.

They claimed they would not baby him, and that all of his 'shenanigans' were done to make their family look bad in the eyes of the community. Harry never spoke, though they told anyone who would listen that he had made threats, lied, and talked back to his Aunt and Uncle. Petunia denounced her sister every chance that she got, and declared Harry hopeless because he was seemingly just as intolerable as Lily had been. But that wasn't what truly rankled the Dursleys'.

When Harry had told his Aunt Petunia that he didn't eat meat, the entire family had laughed for about a minute until they realized it wasn't a joke. She had slapped him so hard he'd fallen out of his seat, and told him not to waste food that the lord had given him and eat. Well, he very well couldn't shove down a steak or drink a quart of milk...he simply wasn't going to do it. So, Harry had stopped eating.

His self-induced malnutrition made him incredibly skinny, and managed to stunt his growth. He wasn't alarmingly short or thin, but definitely always someone people looked down at. As for fasting, his relatives had thought he was crazy, and his teachers grew more and more concerned. They liked Harry, mostly because he was terribly shy and overwhelmingly intelligent. They all said to each other, "...that little Potter boy, he's going to be divine..."

Though not in the Dursley household, they had all agreed. The subject of boarding school had come up when Harry's teacher had called about the pamphlet, and explained the areas of 'discipline' Harry would go through. She knew as well as everyone else how much the family hated their nephew, and won them over with careful persuasion. Harry had then gone back home...well, as close to home as he would ever be again.

There, he had met some of his very best friends, and rejoined some of his old. Seamus was one of them, and the two had been inseparable from then on. Harry tackled school like he tackled everything, with nonchalant indifference and a quietness that was both endearing and frustrating to most. He remained brilliant, and his talent for painting soon revealed itself when he turned twelve. As he grew, his friends developed more understanding for the fact that Harry had no parents, and though they never asked, it was something they never forgot.

Harry was sure if it hadn't of been for Seamus' joking personality and strange humor, he would have cracked under the many concerned stares he got from faculty and students alike. Time passed by, and he grew into his teenage years. As everyone was maturing Harry still stayed the same, though his strong silence and brilliant smile only seemed to get brighter. It was as if no matter what he did, all eyes were on him, but neither did it pressure him into trying very hard in school.

Most who had met Harry, would agree that he was the most frustrating person ever, and even at the age of twelve. He remained mysterious, someone everyone knew of, but didn't really know. He painted his shoes and drew on desks, got lost in Shakespeare and walked as if he were in a dream. It was no wonder that Cedric Diggory would fall in love.

Cedric was three years older than him, and they had met by chance in the dining hall. They became friends immediately, mostly because Cedric was in awe of the little Harry that shook his finger at processed foods and had an interesting opinion on politics. Harry had liked Cedric for his readable face, and the way his hair flopped into his eyes neatly. Admiration became friendship, and friendship turned into love.

Harry wasn't old enough to understand why Cedric was avoiding him all of the sudden. Which was hilariously ironic, since most concepts Harry could grasp, but love seemed to escape him. Seamus had said that Cedric had a crush on him. Harry thought 'crushes' involved large bulldozers, and only remembered his mother's definition of bulldozers as monsters that wrecked historical buildings. He always thought fondly of his mother when he fought for the constitution and the legal rights involving his personal liberty to protest.

As the wind froze his hands, Harry tossed a few more apples into his backpack and paid, glancing down at Remus' list and reminiscing. The wind messed with his hair, wild, just as he had been at that age. His friendship with Cedric gave him a reputation, and most knew him as the eccentric kid with outstanding potential, who everyone had a crush on, and that spewed facts about animal slaughter during lunch on Meatloaf Mondays.

He drew on everything that got in his way, and had philosophical conversations with the older students. Harry was well known at school and well liked. And then one day, he left.

It happened quite abruptly, and Harry, only just twelve, suddenly ceased to exist. The teachers were baffled, but figured that Harry's relatives had taken him back to England. His things were gone, and his friends were clueless. The subject of kidnap was briefly considered, but it seemed like such an obtuse theory that it was discredited immediately. In all appearances, Harry had run away, and in his wake he left more than a few people heartbroken.

It would be a long time before his friends saw him again. Through the years, Harry traveled alone and kipped with friends. He painted murals for money in cities with lights and sound, and he watched others fall in love, and families spend time together at Christmas. Astonishingly enough, he never lacked in money, and remained untouched and free for three solid years.

By the time Harry was sixteen, he had met Oliver Wood and was booked for a flight to Amsterdam to show his art. His first piece that had ever truly been successful, was a picture row of the different murals he had painted in so many different cities. His art was in museums across the country, and Harry was soon climbing the artist hierarchy. He hadn't counted on seeing anyone he knew in Amsterdam, and his first glimpse of neatly flopping hair was quite the surprise.

Cedric was suddenly handsome, and Harry wondered how he had left boarding school and someone so charismatic behind. Every time Harry thought of his regrets, his past reared its ugly head and reminded him. He had believed in a good many things, but Cedric defied certain laws within himself that he couldn't handle. They reacquainted, and were fast friends once more.

But like all the places Harry had been too, and all the people he had met- he eventually left them behind. Amsterdam became Paris, and Paris became Spain, and the states were no longer states, but one long string of towns that he had passed through. People became faces, and the years soon had many memories to show for it.

Harry met Seamus at a club on a Tuesday in October, and they caught up on the times they had missed together. With Seamus, came a whole slew of problems. Harry had never fiddled with drugs, mostly because his mother had told him that they would ruin his life, but his own downtime had made illegal narcotics seem okay. Experimentation was enough, and he eventually favored art over pot. Seamus, however, was another issue.

He had started asking for money, and Harry had been obligated to give his best friend at least something to get by. Harry regretted helping the problem every day of his life, but knew that most of the money he had given Seamus was going towards rent and credit card debt. His friend needed help, but Harry figured he wasn't anyone to talk, and let the problem slide.

Thinking, Harry unzipped his pack and put the vegetables he had purchased inside. His backpack was covered in paint and silver tape, per usual, and he smiled at it before slinging it back over his shoulder. Lately, everything he saw reminded him of his travels and Seamus and Cedric. He found the memories to be fond ones, and a smile slid on his face as he walked to another booth. He examined a peach and his mind was suddenly filled with memories.

Cedric had eventually found him, and proved that if anyone was looking properly, it would be easy to locate the missing Harry Potter. In an art show in Venice Beach, Harry and Cedric finally became a couple, and they suddenly found themselves in love. He stayed with Cedric for a year; the longest he had ever stayed anywhere. But like all of the things Harry pushed behind him, Cedric was but a memory as well, and his feet had pushed him onward.

It wouldn't be the last time he would hurt Cedric Diggory, and all of Harry's friends knew about the issue and shook their heads sadly. Harry continued to live, and the trouble he got into kept him on his feet. The only person he kept in touch with for very long was Seamus, and together they got arrested, made jolly and caused havoc. Seamus was the only one that knew the dangerous game that Harry was playing, and why he had run away.

Fast paced, exciting, and never-ending, seemed to be the only way to describe Harry's life. He never slowed down, and was always indifferent to the strange things that happened. He was an enigma and a mystery in every way, and it wasn't until he walked into a flower shop, met a man with amber eyes, and rented an upstairs loft- that life began to change.

He paid and said thank you, carrying a bag of warm chestnuts, and walked back down the street. The cement glistened with cold water, and the sun made splotches of red appear on his face. He wrapped the chestnuts up carefully and slid them into his coat pocket. When he reached the shop after dodging another car to get across the street, he was surprised to see a black limo parked outside. Curious, he strode over to the door and pulled it open.

The bell jingled as he entered, and he caught sight of Dennis dragging a hose out from the back. Disgruntled, Dennis turned to him sharply.

"She's upstairs!"

Harry blinked and began to unload the groceries. "Who's upstairs?"

"Pansy Parkinson!"

He dropped the apples he had been holding and gasped. "What?!"

The hose got caught on the side of the door and Dennis struggled with it angrily. "Pansy Parkinson is upstairs."

"What is she doing here? Is that her limo outside? You let her upstairs!?"

Dennis turned around, letting go of the hose, and threw his hands into the air. "How should I know? She just walked in."

"Where's Draco?"

"He's not here...Blaise came and picked him up."

"So what is she doing here?"

Dennis tugged on the hose and cursed. "I don't know! Maybe if I stare at the ceiling long enough I'll read her brain waves and be able to answer that question."

Harry shook his head, and looked at the stairs worriedly. "Smart ass."

He didn't know where Remus was, and since Draco wasn't there that meant he was truly on his own. He figured talking to Pansy Parkinson would happen eventually, and briefly considered apologizing. He vowed to remain civil and sympathetic, and the rush of guilt he felt had him stumbling up the stairs.

Courage vanished as he stood staring at the door, though he managed to reach out and tug it open. At first, he didn't see her and he felt relieved and pissed that he had been pranked, but then, no, there was Pansy. She was dressed in a long red dress, with impossibly high shoes and a coat. A coat made of...fur?! Harry made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

She turned around, but didn't smile. "Did you make these stained glass?"

He was caught of guard, by the fur and her calm, and stuttered for a moment. "Um, yes...no. I mean, yes."

"It catches the light splendidly...it's rather ingenious."

Harry thought his brain would explode he was so confused. It must of shown, because Pansy laughed.

"I was looking for Draco."

He smiled. "Oh, sorry, I guess Draco isn't...here."

He couldn't tell if Pansy was raring for a fight but he would have to be on the defensive all the same. The mocking expression on her face was enough to tell him that if he started anything, she would kick him in the face, so he remained pacifistic.

"That much is obvious." She smiled sharply at him, "I hadn't expected him to be here."

"Oh," Harry bit the side of his lip and nodded away from her. "Are you looking for some flowers? Remus just got a great shipment of buds that would match the exact shade of your dress..."

The hopeful, slightly sarcastic look on his face, was not helping his chances of survival. Pansy scowled.

"No, I'm allergic to roses."

Harry grinned anxiously, and blinked.

"I came to talk to you, actually," and she stepped forward ominously. "I wanted to...observe...the man that Draco says he's fallen in love with."

A harsh sting of panic ripped into Harry's chest, love, he thought of the word and wanted to run. He settled on laughing nervously.

"I'm right here, though I don't think you're going to find anything special..." another small laugh. "Draco's crazy..."

"About you," she pointed out. Her hands glided across the couch as she stepped closer. "I've been cast aside, for a messy, uncouth, poor, idiotic charlatan."

"Uncouth?" Harry said in disbelief. "And what do you mean charlatan?"

She moved forward, and Harry took a step back. "You know exactly what I mean..." she smiled bitterly. The anger flared out of her, and soon she was a slow and sly looking predator, gazing at Harry as he tried to calm his pounding heart.

"I think I underestimated you, Harry. I was on my way over here to call you on this...predicament, and maybe sell you out to Draco."

"I don't know you mean," he said quickly.

"You know exactly what I mean," she repeated fiercely. "I talked to Draco's father, and he warned me not to get into it, but I went to the source. I don't think you know..." she was unbearably close to him now. "That Bella is my very close friend of mine...and she's been dating Tom for how long now? Before you were born...before your parents worked for him..."

"I think you've got it all wrong, actually," Harry managed to get in at least that. She leaned away from him and smiled.

"No, I've got it right. Though I don't think you counted on a few small things while nursing your vendetta against Tom Riddle."

He knew exactly what she was going to say, and needed her not to utter a word of it. He shook his head slowly, indicating the message was sent.

Pansy picked up a lily from the vase on the coffee table and smelled it, her nose crinkling in distaste. Her eyes, dark and all-knowing, seemed like a good place not to look, and Harry tore himself away. He walked over to the kitchen counter and unloaded the rest of the groceries.

"If you hurt him," Pansy suddenly said. "You'll have to deal with everyone who cares for Draco. Myself included."

She walked toward the door, picking up her coat and slipping it on. Her form was beautiful, her face and those serious eyes made Harry wonder how Draco had chosen him over her. The thought left him when he looked at her fur coat. Animal killer...

"If you love him," Pansy countered. "Then tell him you do, because I would give anything for him to love me the way he loves you."

Harry laughed. "That's jumping ahead a little..."

Pansy smiled, and looked as if she wanted to cry. "Can you honestly say that you wouldn't want to spend your whole life with him?"

No. I want to see him every day. Consistency? But Harry Potter was never consistent! He never thought about commitment, never thought about forever, until...

"I feel the same way," she murmured, and then smiled. "Be careful."

He only heard the door close, and he was suddenly alone in the loft. Harry looked at the fruit in his hands and sighed. His mother had always said that falling in love was a wonderful thing, her eyes gazing fondly at the back of his dad's head. They had felt as if every day together wasn't enough, and Harry understood that feeling finally.

He hadn't felt that way about Cedric, and had left like he always left everything. Draco was so different...so intolerable that Harry was attracted indefinitely, and couldn't imagine a day without seeing that elegant smirk and those clear gray eyes. Harry shook his head.

Seamus had told him he was playing a dangerous game, and Pansy's visit, her words, had proved enough. But Draco was a factor he hadn't counted on, and the ball was moving out of his court. This kind of love though, for Harry, was a risk he would have to take.

The apartment was rundown and old, but he had forgotten how bad it was over the years. Harry stepped into what once was a lobby and made his way toward the stairs, passing up the elevator since he wasn't ready to die just yet. He listened to his footfalls clang up the metal steps and to the sixth floor.

Seamus' apartment was next to a loud family of immigrants, that Harry imitated in an horrible Italian accent. He smiled at the noise that reached his ears the moment he stepped into the hall, and pushed open Seamus' door. A box blocked the way into the apartment, and Harry frowned as he wrestled his way through.

"Hello? What the fu-"

"Harry! I'm making macaroni."

Harry scowled at the numerous boxes sitting on the floor and the moth eaten sofa. The smell of burnt cheese wafted into his nostrils and he faked a gag. Seamus' shirt was lying on the ground, and he picked it up and tossed it into the hamper. He set down his backpack and walked into the kitchen.

"A pack of cigarettes," Harry handed it to him as Seamus stirred what looked like a brown mess. "Toothpaste, socks, and coins."

Seamus gave him a look. "For the laundry," he watched as his friend nodded and examined the toothpaste.

"How did you know I needed toothpaste?"

"You always need toothpaste. Now move over so I can get rid of that crap your making."

Seamus looked down at the pan and grimaced. "I thought I was doing pretty well."

"You were," Harry smiled at him. The kitchen was a mess, and the dishes were strewn about the counter and in the sink. A light bulb was out on the overhead fan and Harry noticed the floor needed to be mopped as he threw away the brown muck.

Seamus slipped a cigarette into his mouth and lit it, his hair falling into his face as smoke came out of his nostrils. He looked better than the last time Harry had seen him, at the shop, and Harry was thankful that Seamus wasn't high. His baggy clothes and jean jacket (that he always sported) seemed loose on him, and Harry wondered if he'd been losing weight.

"You okay, Seam?" He washed out the pan and grabbed some soup down from the cupboard, as well as some potatoes and a bowl. Seamus grunted and turned away, smoke curling over his head as he leaned against the counter.

"What's with the boxes?" Harry asked calmly. He stirred the soup and let it sit as he began to make his way through the dishes.

"I'm selling some stuff for some buddies of mine," Seamus said, scratching his nose. "I should make good money off it. Say Harry, I can't get the TV to work."

"Yeah?" Harry stepped away and rolled up his sleeves, walking out into the living room. He pushed the television set out from the closet and took a look. "You have to plug it in, Seamus."

"I did. You'll have to mess with the bunny ears."

Harry did so, kneeling comfortably, and when he heard the crackling of the gray screen switch to some kind of soap opera, he smiled. "You got it! Don't move!" Harry stood completely still, then took a step backward, and the crackling started again.

"Shit," Seamus blew out a cloud of smoke. "Just stay there."

Harry gave him a glare and made to walk away. The screen obscured again, and he turned around and delivered a swift kick to its side. The soap opera came back on.

"You're a fucking genius."

He walked back into the kitchen and stirred the soup. When the potatoes were done, he added them in and poured the lot into a bowl. Harry looked in each cupboard, to make sure everything was stalked, and yelled for Seamus to get his lunch.

Seamus scuffled into the kitchen and grabbed the bowl, before scuffling back out. "The game's on."

Harry smiled at his friend's retreating back, and got out a sponge and cleaner. He spent an hour getting the kitchen back to working order, and assessed the damage done to the fridge. Most of the food that Harry had gotten on his last visit was still there, and luckily, not passed their due date. Harry poured water into a glass and walked back into the living room.

He handed Seamus the glass and plopped onto the sofa next to him.

"Who's playing?"

Seamus set his drink down and scraped around his bowl for a potato. "You always ask even though you don't care."

"You're right," Harry rubbed his eyes. He laughed suddenly, and nudged Seamus in the side. "How you doing, Seam?"

"Alright," he said quietly. Harry looked down at the boxes and opened one, listening to the commentator on the television and Seamus grating at his bowl absently. "What the..." Harry said, before he dissolved into laughter.

"What? It sells..." Seamus objected.

Harry picked up one of the purses with the D&G insignia on it. "This is hilarious. Look, you've even got Gucci."

"Nah," Seamus pointed to it, "It's with one C."

"Guci? This is fucked..."

Seamus put his finished soup down and scowled. "You're the fruity artist, I'm the get-by guy, so shut up."

It was a long running joke between them, since Seamus was a big believer in stereotyping people. Harry grinned and held up a mangled looking wallet that he supposed was Prada. "I think I want to buy one..."

"What?" Seamus looked away from the television and raised his eyebrows. "You're cracked."

"I must be for hanging out with you. Next you'll be selling faux fur..."

Seamus elbowed him and he laughed. Harry got up and opened a window, since the room was a bit stuffy, and looked out at the rain clouds unconcernedly. He didn't fancy walking all the way back to Queens in the rain, but figured the visit was worth it. Seamus' dishes were starting to stink.

"How's the money?" Harry asked quietly, and Seamus was silent.

"I haven't spent any...not since I last saw you. I'm sorry Harry, I really am..."

"You don't have to apologize." Harry turned to look at him calmly. "Are you still buying from that guy?"

Seamus didn't look at him. "Yeah. Not so much anymore."

The serious moment between the two lasted a few minutes, before Harry smiled. "Don't worry about it," he sat down next to his friend again and slung an arm over his shoulder. "What's up with life?"

"Nothing. Though, you know that chick I was dating? Lavender? Yeah, we broke it off."

Harry frowned. "Why? With all these designer purses you'd think a girl would be happy..."

Seamus punched him, but sighed. "The same excuse every girl I date has. I'm unreliable, my apartment is crap, and I'm usually too high to have sex."

Wisely, Harry didn't say anything but, "...you deserve better, anyway."

His friend turned to him very seriously and shook his head. "But it's not true. I'm a fuck up, and no one wants to date a fuck up."

"Seamus if that were true than no one would be dating anyone. Everyone makes some...mistakes..."

"Whatever. She always put too much perfume on, anyway."

Harry nodded and turned back to the television. He bit his lip and glanced at his friend, aware of the strangled tension between them. He wanted Seamus to be happy, and to find someone that really meant something to him. He had a feeling that Seamus wasn't too aware of his own feelings, hell, his own depression, and sometimes Harry thought it was better that way.

It had always been like this. No matter where Harry went, or how far away he was from Seamus, they would keep in touch, and if Seamus needed his best friend, Harry would be there. They worried about each other constantly, but neither of them ever told the other. With Seamus everything was naturally cool and unspoken. Harry swore Seamus represented the part of him that just didn't give a fuck, that lived life by the hour, and cared for only himself. They shared a mutual understanding, that made every bad thing they did- suddenly okay.

"Hey lightening, get a coke from the fridge and I'll give you some free Prada."

Free Prada sounded pretty good, and Harry left for the kitchen, but not before kicking Seamus in the shin.

"How long are you staying for?" Seamus yelled from the living room. Harry grabbed a coke and grimaced. He walked back into the room silently, and handed Seamus his drink.

"Did you know that it takes millions of years for an aluminum can to decompose into the earth?"

Seamus looked at him. "No, and I didn't want to know either. It's got coke in it and I like coke, who cares if the takes forever to decompose? Now how long are you staying?

The unspoken end to that statement was 'asshole' and Harry briefly considered ignoring him. "I can't stay this time. I have to work."

He jibbed back with that guilt trip, since the reason Harry had to work was because Seamus kept spending the money. His friend looked rather downcast, instead.

"I like your cooking."

"You always say that."

"I do. I can't cook for shit."

"You're right. I don't think even shit would eat that macaroni you were making earlier."

Seamus grinned wolfishly and took a gulp of his sugar and syrup. Harry shook his head. He didn't fancy leaving, since whenever he thought about going somewhere in Seamus' apartment the thought immediately vanished. It was hard for Harry to not just stay there forever, and often times it was the reason why he would be gone for so long.

Some mystery, Harry thought wryly, I sneak away for weeks on end to hang out with my fuck up friend and watch football. He got up and started looking through the boxes, intent on finding a nice 'Guci' to give to Draco.

After a brief scuffle with Dennis and a large fern, Harry managed to put his feet up at last. He stomped up the stairs, listening to Remus and Dennis argue, before he pushed open the door to the loft and sighed happily. He truly enjoyed a productive day, and couldn't wait to flop onto his mattress without reserve.

He planted his backpack down and looked at the lilies on the table, glaring at the one Pansy had smelled and then at the couch where her fur coat had defiled simple polyester. His mattress was just as soft as he expected and once he was on it and curled into a blanket, he thought of falling asleep right there. Shoes on and everything.

Beryl eyes caught the white square on the wall instead, and he hopped up with new energy. It seemed like a perfect time to start his installation, and he recorded the time on a piece of paper. He figured he would work on it in the afternoon at the same time until it was finished. Grabbing the camera that he had borrowed from Oliver, Harry checked the battery and made sure it worked.

He stood as if ready, and his motivation suddenly deflated when he realized he didn't know what to paint. Harry glanced at the camera and frowned. The white square laughed at him as he stood in the thinking pose and tried to visualize something magical. He even asked the earth to give him an idea, though besides honking from outside, he didn't particularly hear the wind uttering advice. Harry shook his bangs out of his eyes and told himself to stay focused.

What must have been an hour later, Harry still stood without a clue as to what to do, and was only distracted when he was pulled into a light embrace. He wasn't at all used to the act of affection, but chilled when he realized it was his blond roommate.

"What on earth are you doing?" Draco whispered into his hair.

Harry sighed, feeling strange with his back alined with Draco's body. "I have no idea."

He was very surprised when Draco's hands started to wander. They started from his hips down to his thighs and around to his butt. He wanted to ask what Draco was doing, but before he could protest, he was brought closer. Cool lips kissed up and down his neck, before a tongue dipped into a dimple in his throat. Harry tilted his head back and bit his lip.

One of Draco's hands had slipped down Harry's stomach, and rested at the zipper to his jeans. Harry remained awkwardly aware of that touch, but was soon distracted when Draco buried his other hand into Harry's hair.

"This is...abrupt..." Harry managed to choke out. He could practically feel Draco smirk into his neck.

"You just looked so good..." That mouth was back on his throat, and now two hands were running up and down his stomach. The steady smoothing of the palm of his hands were calming, and Harry found himself focused on the very tips of Draco's fingers as they felt his torso. A nose was pressed in his hair, nuzzling sweetly and traveling around the smooth arch of his neck.

He felt Draco rest his chin near his ear, and decided to turn around. He faced Draco meekly, and in return the blond placed his hands back into Harry's shirt and pulled him close. The embrace was no longer strange, but comforting and confident. It felt as if together they made a whole, and Harry leaned his cheek on Draco's shoulder and sighed.

"Where did you go this afternoon?" Draco asked suddenly.

"Over to a friend's house," he frowned. "I didn't know you had come back and then left again."

They were silent for a moment, and Harry felt the muscles in Draco's shoulders tense. He grinned shyly and moved his head to look at the other. "Were you worried?"

Draco didn't seem at all amused, and his gray eyes flashed with uncertainty. "I was rather happy since you weren't here, so I danced around naked."

Harry laughed, shaking his head. "Naked?"

"Yes," Draco's eyes narrowed slyly, "Would you like me to demonstrate?"

The blush that made its way onto his face was completely involuntary, and Harry grew beyond embarrassed. Draco made a teasing sound in the back of his throat, and suddenly kissed him. Harry had gotten used to the abrupt way Draco initiated sexual contact, and let the kiss happen. Or rather, the kiss was good enough to tolerate. There was something about the softness of Draco's lips that made it a very nice experience.

"You're a good kisser, you know?" Harry mumbled, and then raised his eyebrows at his own comment.

"Am I?" Draco smirked. "I'm not surprised."

Harry detached himself from the embrace and turned toward his mattress. "I still don't understand why you keep climbing into my bed."

"It's cold. It's January," Draco complained.

"And my lumpy mattress is the alternative?" He smiled and turned around persuasively. "Why don't I just sleep in your king-sized bed."

Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes indignantly, and walked back up to him. "What do you want me to say? Oh Harry, but then we would be far apart, and I want to be close to you forever."

"Do I look like someone who would fall for that?" Harry said disbelievingly, but laughed all the same. "You might, if I said it..."

Offended, Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's body and pulled him close. "Oh really..."

"Yes," he breathed. "You are a blond."

Draco turned away and groaned loudly, "No blond jokes..."

"How do you keep a blond busy for hours?" He continued on over Draco's loud groaning. "You write 'please turn over' on a piece of paper on both sides."

"Ha, ha," Draco bit sarcastically. When it looked as if Harry was going to say another, Draco kissed him deeply and the words were lost.

A surge of lust enveloped him, and he tentatively ran his hand up Draco's shirt. The effect was immediate, and his partner trailed his tongue over his top lip and kissed him harder. Harry moved the edges of his fingers around Draco's navel and traveled around his hip where he rested his palm on his lower back. He tilted his head and changed the kiss from soft to carnal, and a low moan escaped from the back of his throat.

He put more weight on his left foot and tilted the other, feeling the rubber in his Converse start to stretch. Draco ran a hand across the back pockets of his jeans, and Harry retreated from Draco's stomach in favor of wrapping his arms around Draco's neck. They pushed each other a little, caught in the motions of their kiss, and eventually leaned against the edge of the couch.

Draco was taking his shirt off, and Harry found he didn't mind very much, because Harry was reaching for Draco's zipper in return. He didn't know what made him so bold as to move his hand down until he was touching a very intimate part of Draco, but the action proved to be a rather good thing, based on Draco's very loud moan.

He was very aware that he was effecting another in such a powerful way, and though he had no idea what had made him so forward as of late, he didn't particularly want it to change. Draco had backed him up so he was sitting on the couch's arm rest, and if it weren't for his hand in Draco's crotch, there would be nothing obstructing their hips. Harry made use of his current position, and started to slowly massage the warm member.

Draco breathed in forcefully, and tilted his head back. His legs locked with Harry's, and they tilted against the arm rest. Kissing again, with fierce desire, Harry focused on his own movements and the way Draco's body undulated to the slow rhythm.

Managing to switch their positions, he moved so that Draco was now against the couch. Harry debated what to do next, aware of his own overpowering lust, and watched Draco move in serene pleasure. He found he liked the way Draco's eyes flickered beneath his lids, and how he took the bottom part of his lip in between his teeth. Harry watched him turn his neck, and the skin move over bones, looking pale and untouched compared to their rumpled state.

He gave in to the temptation and caressed that skin, aware of the shiver his kisses caused. Harry moved his hand away from Draco, and he heard a low keen at the loss of his steady chafing. Instead, Harry made an executive decision and dropped to his knees.

He wouldn't know how wonderful he looked to Draco just then, and the pleasure simple touch would bring to another. It was an act so intimate, and Harry made it so, that Draco would sit up that night and wonder at the force of their lust. Or was it love? They both figured it didn't matter much, and sleep claimed them as they maneuvered onto the couch.

Later on, at what must have been midnight, Harry got up from the tangle of blankets and blond and stared at the patch of white on the wall. He looked back at Draco, who laid half on the couch and half off, sound asleep. He smiled, and the blankness no longer mocked him, because Harry knew exactly what he wanted to paint.


	23. Introducing A Riddle

Madison and David, as a central building in the midtown area of Manhattan, overlooked the East River, and on a clear day the Atlantic could be seen stretching far out into the horizon. The weather, had in fact, changed for the better after the remnants of snowfall and ice began to evaporate. The city would experience a quick recovery after the mild winter, and soon spring would begin to bloom.

Sadly, Draco Malfoy's mood had not been subject to change, and he remained on thin ice and in a funk for the first week of his vacation. His father had found it highly impetuous of him to be taking the time off he had originally used for wedding preparations, to spend in Queens, thus furthering the general opinion that Draco had gone completely mad. It was on that day, a still cold but comfortable day, that Draco was called in to have a long awaited conversation with his father.

"Mr. Malfoy, your son is here to see you."

Millie's voice was a bit loud over the speaker, and Lucius grimaced before leaning down and pressing the speak button. "Send him in, Millie."

Severus observed his friend for a moment, intent on giving advice through his stony glare. He should have known it wouldn't work, because Lucius waved a hand at him and turned to greet his son.

"Draco," he nodded apprehensively. Draco must have noticed his father's anxiety and furrowed his eyebrows in question before sitting down next to his godfather. He looked back and forth between them for a moment, and decided to test the waters.

He turned to Severus. "When are you leaving?"

"This afternoon, I plan on making a few stops before then, naturally." Severus raised an eyebrow at him, the expression weighted down with caution, and Draco looked away.

"If I had known there was a meeting today, father, I would have made sure to schedule time off after New Years . . . "

"Neither did you consult me on the matter, nor think of anyone but yourself, Draco," Lucius snapped. Taken aback, Draco glanced sideways at his godfather, who was gazing outside of Lucius' office window with interest.

"I apologize . . . "

Lucius got up from his seat and grunted disbelievingly. "There is no need for you to say sorry, when it is without a doubt that you do not mean it. Thankfully, there is no meeting." He walked over to the window and stood elegantly poised. "I should think it is in my power to be able to have a conversation with my son once and a while."

He turned to look back at Draco with serious set eyes and a solemn glare. Draco swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat, and cursed himself inwardly for even attempting a bit of civility. He was a fool to think that Lucius wouldn't call him in once he'd found out (and it was a sure thing that Lucius would) and Draco-the-fool now sat with a very angry father and an impassive godfather that had used to be his ally. He looked down at his crossed legs and held in a sigh.

"I'd like you to know, that I'm aware of everything that goes on in my company." Draco stared at the strange and abrupt comment. "One circulating rumor, however, has shocked me completely." Lucius turned to him now. "To find out that it is indeed not a rumor, well . . . I'm sure you can guess how surprised I was." His father was silent for a while, and wearing that dreadful expression "How surprised I am . . . "

"If you'll excuse me," Severus interrupted deftly. "I have some packing to do."

"Of course, Severus, don't let us keep you."

Any chance of back up during his father's interrogation was utterly destroyed, but that didn't stop Draco from sending Severus a silent look of distress. Not to be deterred, his godfather exited the office smoothly, and looking at his retreating back only made Draco more sure of his impending doom.

"We have much to discuss, Draco." And Draco turned around once more and gulped.

"If you'll just let me explain, before . . . "

"Explain?" Lucius stopped him, suddenly seething. "Explain your infidelity while engaged, with a man, but your successful attempt at humiliating Madison and David, and degrading my company? You would like, now, to explain . . . "

"If you'd just listen . . . "

"That's enough, Draco." Lucius walked over to his desk and stood imperiously. "I admit that I knew that consorting with that roommate of yours would be disastrous. But I said nothing, because as my son, I trusted your intelligence to realize when a threat to the company would suddenly rear its ugly head. I trusted you, Draco."

"And I haven't betrayed your trust . . . Pansy has nothing to do with Madison and David, and neither does my choice in partner." Draco was standing, suddenly.

"Partner is it now?" Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Do you know what a partner is, Draco?" He took his son's silence in stride. "It's a mutual responsibility. It is putting your life into someone else's hands . . . "

"A little dramatic, don't you think? "

"It is not, and you don't understand what the hell you're doing by consorting with that-"

"I've never judged you on the things you do to make a name for Madison and David, never! Why should you look at me so critically . . . " Draco said over him, his voice raising.

"You are my son!" Forceful and yielding, the look on Lucius' face was enough to quiet him. "It is my job, to keep things from hurting you . . . "

"No one is hurting me!" Draco yelled, and then laughed bitterly. "For once, I'm happy with where I am. I'm undecided about something, and it doesn't bother me!" He shook his head hopelessly. "I'm different, father, different in a good way . . . "

"That is rather debatable . . . " Lucius muttered.

"And if it is debatable, as you say, then why can't it be like this? I don't have a plan. I don't have any expectations for myself. And I feel great . . . "

"Draco, stop."

"No! I-just listen to what I'm saying . . . Harry . . . "

"I will not permit talk of that intolerable young man. I draw the line there . . . " Lucius' calm and deadly voice seemed to shut Draco up immediately. They gazed at each other, a silent battle of wills to see who would cave first.

"Though I cannot, and I will not forbid you from seeing him."

If Draco hadn't had been so mad at the fact his father could forbid him anything, he would have probably taken the courtesy and been done with it. But like the headstrong young man he was, there was no chance he would let his dad get away with the assumption that Draco Malfoy could be denied.

"Forbid me?" He stated indignantly, and sat down with a flouted sort of air. "I highly doubt you could forbid me from doing anything . . . "

Lucius cocked his jaw to the side. "You are testing my patience, Draco."

"So talk," he jeered, leaning forward and crossing his legs. Draco's intense gray eyes met their carbon copy, and multiple sneers were thrown across the room. "You told me to come here so we could have a chat."

"About the current situation you've gotten us into, of course."

"Situation?" Draco frowned. "The press makes things up. People probably don't even believe it."

"That is a very peculiar stroke of luck, actually." Lucius looked at a tabloid that had been laying on his desk and made a clucking sound. "The rumor has only endeared your image to a more, diverse, fan base. No threats, no activist invitations, no cults . . . "

Lucius gave him such an intense half-glance that Draco was floored. "You're a very fortunate person, Draco." He tossed the paper away.

His father moved toward the window and looked out at the city below him. Draco managed not to fidget and sat silently, waiting for the soft sigh that Lucius would make before he told Draco something that he wouldn't like. The sigh never came though, instead, Millie's voice interrupted them over the speaker.

"Mr. Malfoy, The Four Seasons called to verify your reservation for tonight."

Lucius strode over to his desk. "Yes, thank you Millie, tell them eight o'clock per planned."

"Sure thing, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco, curious that his father would seem so uptight about a dinner, chose wisely not to voice his concern. Lucius gladly gave over the information with an incline of his head."There is a very important dinner tonight. I expect you to arrive here with the uttermost punctuality."

Resisting the urge to mouth 'uttermost punctuality', Draco asked for an explanation instead. "We are discussing the future of this company, and like it or not, that means you will be in involved."

"You're not going to give me the 'when I die' speech again?"

An eyebrow rose in his direction. "Unfortunately no. I can only ask you to show up here half-an-hour before eight, no later. I made these reservations weeks ago, being tardy is not an option."

"It never is, right father? You taught me something about manners, so you don't need to remind me to arrive on time." Draco uncrossed his legs casually.

"Forgive me, I assumed bad manners were rubbing off on you."

The jibe, undoubtedly about Draco's 'partner' was one that he decided to let go. Not that he wasn't rightfully angry that Lucius would consider Harry ill-mannered, but a repeat of a fight they had just had was the last thing he wanted to do. Purposely provoking his father, Draco got up and tightened his tie. He made toward the door with a smirk on his face.

"Dinner at eight, I'll be here."

"Half past seven!" Lucius shouted at him before the door closed with a tight snap. Draco sighed deeply, taking a moment to soothe his nerves. He walked out of the office and toward the elevator, already feeling a headache coming on.

"See you, Mr. Malfoy," Millie said cheerfully, and he grunted as he strode away.

When he reached his car, Draco got out his keys and opened the door, sticking his foot out to keep it from closing as he threw the paperwork he'd received before his confrontation with his father, on the back seat. He turned on the ignition and sat for a moment, aware of his jumbling nerves. Draco didn't like when his father was unpredictable, and he knew that by the time seven rolled around, he would be a wreck.

He supposed it all depended on whether Lucius planned to talk about the company, or his newly-formed relationship. Draco had been a hard worker ever since he'd joined his father at Madison and David, and he would handle the firm with the best of his abilities. If the conversation tilted toward the latter, however, Draco was sure he would lose a whole lot more than his status as heir to the billion-dollar company.

Among the many reactions Draco had played out in his head, Lucius' true response to the issue absolutely escaped him. He had been prepared for yelling, demands, or even a stern lecture on infidelity, anything other than what his father had dished out that morning. What was so wrong with Harry? Because his father's problem wasn't that Harry was a guy, or that he was poor; Lucius had said that he was protecting Draco from getting hurt.

He told himself it was Lucius' prejudice talking, but he couldn't ignore the fact that whenever his father talked about Harry it was as if he knew something Draco didn't. Briefly, he envisioned Harry standing outside of Madison and David with a picket sign, which was a very likely scenario if it wasn't for that tiny niggle of doubt that made him very sure it was more serious than that. Draco wasn't stupid, he knew that Harry didn't like his father's company and having added up all the facts, Lucius didn't like Harry all that much either.

Understatement, Draco thought to himself sarcastically as he drove down the road. He would need to go back home and regroup before he'd face his doom at the hands of his dad. Draco rolled his eyes and leaned his head back as the light ahead of him turned red.

Finally, making it back to the shop later than intended, he parked his car and walked up the steps to the floor. He almost turned around upon the sight that greeted him, but Harry's smiling face endeared him enough to walk forward. Immediately, due to Draco's astonishingly wonderful luck, he felt more than heard Blaise stand next to him, and therefore had no warning before he was violently sneezed upon.

"Blaise!" Draco shouted, completely disgusted. Half of his friend's face was covered in tissue paper as Blaise blew his nose. He heard Harry laugh at him in the background.

"I'm sick, give me a break."

"You're going to get me sick, now." Wiping his suit with a tissue Blaise had handed him, he strode over to the counter and looked for the antiseptic Remus kept behind the register. Blaise toddled after him, sniffling pathetically.

"Draco, Hermione won't talk to me because I've got a cold," Blaise waved his tissue around. "I was just telling Harry how rude it was."

"Yeah well, I don't want any of your germs either," Draco said, disgruntled, while Blaise collapsed onto the counter with a groan. Harry came up to them both, and smiled that smile. Draco bit his lip, looking from Blaise to Harry's stern gaze, and mumbled an apology.

Blaise raised his head and sniffled. "Don't worry about it, I'm on this weird medication the pharmacist gave me."

Draco frowned. "Hasn't Harry told you about his conspiracy theory on pharmaceuticals?"

"Conspiracy theory?" Blaise queried, while Harry said at the same time, "Not yet."

"Never mind. You don't want to know. So, what's going on over here? Where's the flower guy?"

Moving to stand close to Harry, because really, Draco couldn't help it, he wrapped a hand around Harry's waist, which was immediately pushed away, but did not discourage him from trying it again.

"Off visiting Severus before he goes back to Kenya. He left Dennis in charge because this is my day off." Harry stated, finally giving in and letting Draco hold him. Blaise wasn't paying attention anyway, and was blowing into a tissue multiple times with long pauses where he would inspect what had come out of his nose.

"That liar!" Draco exclaimed, and he pulled away from Harry so he could gesticulate his anger. "He said he had packing to do, and fed me to the wolves!"

"You're so dramatic, Draco," Blaise murmured. "Is that blood? Holy shit I'm dying . . . " He pushed his used tissue toward the couple and pointed. "Blood, see? Right there."

"That's disgusting," Draco leaned over, successfully avoiding the tissue, and smacked Blaise on the back of the head. "You're such a baby. I don't know why you came here looking for sympathy. You're a glutton for punishment."

"Honestly, Draco, he's sick," Harry nodded to a moaning Blaise. "And even though I really don't appreciate getting an eyeful of someone's snot rag, I think I can safely say I still sympathize with him. Being sick isn't any fun."

"Neither is you taking his side." Draco turned back to Blaise. "Listen, go home, eat some soup, chill, and get better. Can you do that?"

Blaise contemplated it seriously for a moment, before sniffing. "Can't I just stay here? I love spending time with you guys." He reached over and patted each of their hands.

"He's going to pass out, watch," Harry prophesied, and sure enough, Blaise's head fell back onto the counter with a clunk.

"What should we do with him?" Draco asked turning his head into Harry's hair and smiling.

He found it absolutely astounding how only a few minutes with the insufferable artist could improve his bad mood. Harry's smile, Harry's crazy hair, the paint on Harry's soft hands, and everything that made him so impossible to ignore. Being around him made everything, for a time, suddenly okay, and Draco wasn't about to give that up for anyone.

"Come on," Harry grinned and pulled away. "Let's put him upstairs on the couch. He won't make it back to his apartment."

They hoisted the nearly catatonic Blaise off of the stool and put one of his arms around each of their shoulders. Blaise grunted a nonsensical complaint just as they started to shuffle up the stairs. Pretty soon they were both laughing hysterically, barely able to lift Blaise up to the top, and wondering whose bright idea it was to carry him up the stairs. At one point, Blaise made to say something and managed to pull away from them and stand on his own. Harry and Draco had barely saved him by grabbing his jacket before he could tumble down the staircase.

"That was ridiculous," Harry panted. Draco had a hand on his side and was glaring at his friend.

"He was fucking heavy," and for good measure, Draco kicked one of Blaise's legs, who grunted and turned over.

"Don't kick him! He's sick." Harry pulled him away from the couch and they made their way over to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, Harry brought out two water bottles and sighed.

"Have you eaten lunch?" He glanced over at Draco, who shook his head. "Are you hungry?"

"I could eat," Draco shrugged. Harry smirked at him, tapping his fingers on the side of the counter distractedly.

"I have to tell Dennis to watch the shop for an hour or so, I really need a shower," he ran a hand through his hair. "Cup of noodles?"

"I thought you hated processed meals?" Draco asked, getting up and watching Harry shake the vegetables out of the cup and into the trash can. "And how did you know I hate the vegetables?"

"Everyone shakes them out, and I'm not the one eating it." He put it in the microwave and scooted past Draco and toward the door. "I'll be back in a few."

Suddenly alone, Draco watched his noodles roll around in the microwave, before sitting down with a soft sigh. The bundle of nerves he had abandoned earlier came back full force, since it figured that the moment Harry left he would become spastic all over again. He rested his head in his hand and gazed around their home. Harry's stuff was thrown about on the floor, but a few of Draco's things were laying here and there, and not placed in any special order. Draco bit his lip and looked down at the marble counter.

Blaise snored loudly on the couch, and Draco got up when the microwave beeped. The noodles smelled delicious; he really didn't understand Harry's antipathy for processed food. As he was finishing up, he abruptly started, and looked down at the cup. Finally realizing that even though Harry hated the stuff he ate, he had purchased it anyway, for Draco. He heard the bathroom door shut, and smirked.

Ignoring Blaise, who was hanging off the side of the couch and slowly sliding onto the floor, he strode to the door and walked out into the hall. Hoping the bathroom door wasn't locked, he turned the handle and pushed it open.

Harry was just sliding off his pants when he entered, and seemed to not hear him over the roar of the shower. The water had already heated and steamed up the room, and Draco glanced at his distorted reflection in the foggy mirror. He watched Harry take everything off in a way that made him raise an eyebrow, and he closed the door as Harry disappeared under the stream of hot water.

As quickly as possible, and still managing to stay on his feet, Draco shed his clothing and slipped off his shoes. He didn't bother tapping on the glass to inform Harry of his arrival, since no doubt the artist had already noticed he'd sneaked in.

Sure enough, when he opened the door, Harry's bright eyes were examining him, impressed with his daring. Draco stepped forward and kissed him. Slowly, confidently, he moved his hands across Harry's back, feeling the drops of water soak into his skin and the heat stick to his body.

Harry, startled but willing, kissed him softly until Draco moved his tongue in a certain way that always prompted the same reaction from the artist. Draco smirked and tilted his head to the side, letting Harry kiss down his throat and push them closer together.

The gentle spray of water settled on Draco's back as Harry moved them both closer to the tile. Pushing his hips into Harry's, Draco dragged his finger tips along the soft muscle of Harry's torso, just as a carnal moan drifted out of the brunette's mouth.

Hot, from the temperature of the water, and sweating from their increasingly deepening kisses, Draco pushed Harry against the tile tenderly and wrapped his hand around Harry's hardening member. With a strangled groan, Harry breathed in shallowly and moved to the soft pace of Draco's hand.

Harry's arms wrapped around broad shoulders, feeling the tempo rise deftly until he was digging his hands into Draco's skin and running them down the blonde's lower back. He felt Draco flex against his hands and in one particularly fast movement, Harry was brought to completion.

Draco kissed up his neck and pulled their bodies flush against each other. Suddenly aroused once more, Harry looked at Draco closely as they developed a slow rut against each other. Draco watched as one particular thrust made Harry's head turn and his neck arch, until those bright beryl eyes were back on him. Draco moved his hand up Harry's leg and lifted it, bringing them so close it was almost unbearable. He felt Harry wrap his other leg around his hips and jut upwards, and he lost himself completely.

He came to, still in a haze of pleasure, to see Harry looking at him deeply as the water drifted down his back. Tiny droplets were splashed on Harry's cheeks like freckles, and Draco leaned forward and ran his tongue across them. They moved together, until they found each others lips and delved into a slow kiss once more.

They spent a little more time in the shower, unwilling to get out and into the cold. Draco spent most of that time mapping out Harry's body with his hands and tasting places he was sure no one had ever dared to go. Harry writhed against him, smiling down at him and sometimes grinning up, until they were stuck close and simply embracing each other tightly. At one point, they managed to get soapy and clean, and when the water began to turn cold they both suspected it was time to get out.

When they reentered the loft, quite satisfied with each other, Blaise was still hanging off of the couch in what looked like a very painful position. Harry clicked his tongue and grabbed a clean shirt from out of his bag. He slipped it on over his jeans and padded barefoot over to the couch in order to get Blaise more comfortable. Draco, who hadn't brought clean clothes to change into in the bathroom, was suddenly very aware of the towel around his waist and his own nakedness underneath.

He scampered into his room and looked at the clock. It was just past four and he felt the night starting to creep up on him. Rummaging through his wardrobe, he pondered briefly if it would be beneficial if he told Harry about the dinner. He had come to a point where he imagined he could tell his roommate anything, since they lived together, ate together, had sex together, and those things usually came with a certain amount of affection and trust.

But Draco wasn't too sure what was making him so nervous in the first place. He knew his father would never hurt him, at least physically, and he didn't much care who got the millions of dollars in insurance payments when Lucius died. His father hadn't said whether anyone else would be attending the night's meeting, but he hoped to god it wasn't his mother.

Narcissa had always been impassive about the business. She didn't particularly lend any service to the company except for being with its owner and calming him when times were tough. She'd taken on being Draco's mother and believed it was her job in the giant scheme of things. Draco was her pride and joy, and she couldn't handle hearing any harsh words about him. His father would object, his mother would snap, and pretty soon they'd create a scene in the middle of some posh restaurant downtown. Draco knew; it had happened before.

He decided the only action he could take would be to completely relax himself before he left for dinner. Already, he was calm due to the very nice activities he and Harry had indulged in earlier. Wearing black slacks, black shoes, and a simple white dress shirt, Draco dried his hair with a towel and stepped out of his room.

Around six, when Draco and Harry were talking softly and cleaning around the loft, Blaise decided to wake up. They both turned and watched as Blaise stretched and yawned loudly, before sneezing. Draco grimaced and walked over to his friend with a handkerchief.

"Thanks," he said, and blew his nose. Draco gave Harry a 'I can't believe you let him stay' look, and Harry put a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. "Man I'm hungry, but I can't taste anything! That would be the worst thing ever, not being able to taste a fucking thing."

"I think going blind would suck," Draco commented, placing his hands on his hips and looking down at his friend. "What medication are you taking anyway?"

Harry walked from behind the counter and shook his head. "Nothing good for him. He should let his body heal itself naturally. Pills don't work. It's all in the mind." Harry tapped the side of his temple for good measure.

Blaise pointed his thumb at Harry and gave Draco a look. "All in the mind he says, and I'm still fucking hungry."

"We have lots of stuff to eat, quit whining," he walked past Harry picked up his water bottle.

"Vegan stuff though." Blaise flopped back onto the couch dramatically, "Yu-uck."

Harry suggested they find Dennis and close shop, and Draco agreed if only to get his friend to stop groaning. Dennis was sitting reading a magazine when they trampled down the stairs, and he turned, alert, looking grateful for the company. Harry brought down the gate and turned the sign over from open to closed, and they all traipsed out the back door and down the street.

Draco didn't get anything to eat, since he figured his dad would make him have whatever it was the table ordered. He settled on watching Harry, with an amused smirk, as he ordered a taco that was completely dissected of meat, cheese, and any other non-organic substance. In the end, Harry's meal was simply vegetables and salsa.

They all walked up to the loft and sat down to eat. Blaise made a show of moving around the beef and taking bites of his taco with a look of complete pleasure on his face. Harry finally tossed a tortilla chip at him and he stopped.

"Harry, what's with the camera?" Dennis asked, picking it up and rotating it in his hands. Harry looked up from his food.

"Installation, for the mural."

Blaise raised his eyebrows. "You're sure that you aren't making homemade porn?"

Harry took the camera from Dennis, laughing. "Oh come on, that's stupid. There's nothing on it, look. . . fuck!"

"Harry said the F word!" Dennis pointed, and Draco walked behind Harry and looked over his shoulder. Shocked, he looked at Harry in disbelief.

"You didn't turn it off?!"

"Are fucking shitting me?!" Blaise got up from his seat and ran over, pushing Dennis out of the way so he could see the mini screen. "Holy fuck, yes! Is there sound?"

Harry closed the screen with a snap and Draco grabbed it out of his hands and turned it off. "This never happened," he said, jabbing Blaise in the chest with his finger.

"Ah, Draco, come on! This is classic!"

"It's for the installation, I forgot to turn it off . . . " Harry admitted sheepishly.

"Oh well, yeah," Blaise sniggered. "Someone was installing something."

"Don't be a prude." Draco said, and Harry followed up with a helpless, "Blaise!"

Harry looked extremely embarrassed, and Draco sat down next to him, still holding the camera. "We'll just delete it later," he said comfortingly, and Harry nodded.

"I think you'd get a lot more fans if you just showed that at the art show," Dennis said mildly.

"Dennis!" Harry shouted, and Blaise gave him a high five.

When seven o'clock rolled around, after an endless bout of teasing, Draco sprinted back into his room to get ready. He felt tired, and nervous, but put on his already laid out suit and slicked back his hair. Harry had already settled down with a book on his mattress by the time he came out, and green eyes gazed at him appraisingly.

"You look nice."

Draco pulled down his blazer and smiled. "I'll be back later."

He regretted suddenly, having to say goodbye to Harry, and walked down the stairs at a more sedate pace. Remus had returned, it looked like, and Draco greeted him with what must have seemed an overly happy hello.

"What's got you in such a mood?" Remus asked, grinning. Dennis stood beside him and grimaced.

"You should have seen them earlier. Harry made a porn video of him and Draco."

Remus' jaw dropped. "Are you serious?!"

"No, come on Dennis, he didn't mean to leave the camera on." Draco pulled his Rolex around to observe the time.

"I don't want to know," Remus said, putting his hands up as a sign of giving in, and Draco nodded as if that was the right thing to do.

"Oh, that's not all," Dennis said, and pointed a finger at Draco. "Don't think I didn't see you sneak into the bathroom after Harry had entered it. I'm not stupid, you know."

"You were spying on us?!" Draco exclaimed. Dennis turned red with embarrassment, but shook his head vehemently.

"I was standing by the staircase, and shut up."

Remus turned back to Draco and smirked. "He was spying," he teased. "Weren't you?"

Draco walked toward the garage door, laughing as he heard Dennis yell, affronted, "Was not!"

He took his keys out of his pocket and got into his car, completely drowning out the argument that had started within the shop. He pulled out and turned onto the main street, where he was detained by traffic until he finally made it onto the thruway. Draco, ever his neurotic self, had calculated how long it would take him to get back to Manhattan, and in being so obsessive on punctuality, it only made him wonder why his father had to remind him of the time.

He tried very hard not to contemplate dinner, and when he pulled into his parking spot in front of Madison and David, he was at his wit's end. The front of the building was empty of cars except for the long black limo that Draco assumed would be their ride to The Four Seasons. Lucius always did have a flare for being flashy.

Draco looked at his watch and realized that he was a few minutes early, and he was completely startled when Lucius opened the door of the limo and told him to get in. Rolling his eyes, Draco lowered himself into the car and sat quietly. Lucius was talking on the phone impatiently, so he was no use conversation wise, and right when Draco needed a distraction as well. He settled for looking out of the window and watching the buildings fly by; his own face unseen behind the tinted windows, though he could examine other people quite clearly.

The drive wasn't all that long, and all too soon his father was pushing him out of the car. Heads turned as they walked into the hotel, but Draco ignored them. The maitre-de let them breeze past easily, and Draco stopped briefly as his father looked for their table.

Okay. Do or die. Either I'm disowned during this dinner or I'm forced to do something I won't like. I won't be forced, no fucking way. He glanced toward his father and swallowed. Lucius strode in between the tables with purpose, and Draco, nervous as hell, followed after him. He lagged behind, butterflies jumping in his stomach, and stood still where he could see his father in full view, who was sitting down at a table that had one other occupant.

Draco suddenly felt all of his nervousness drift away. In place of the emotion, he felt a calm sort of shock, because sitting next to his father was Madison and David's previous owner, Tom Riddle. Frowning, Draco must have looked ridiculous with that confused crease in his brow, until his father motioned him over to them with an impatient gesture. Draco walked distractedly up to the table.

He had met Tom Riddle multiple times, in fact, he was always around when Draco was very little. He knew that his dad was good friends with the man, but nowadays, whenever they talked it was tense and forced. Draco sat in his seat slowly and tried to figure out why his father would have invited Riddle to dinner.

The man sat with nonchalant confidence, and was the perfect picture of sophistication. He had green eyes (not as bright as Harry's, Draco noticed) that sunk into you and seemed to know every little secret you tried to keep hidden. He sported silky short black hair, and a suit that looked as if it was melted on him. His cool and indifferent expression had frightened Draco the first time he'd set eyes on him, but now, Draco looked into that face and saw something that meant power, and perfected cunning.

With a glass of wine in between his fingers, Riddle leaned forward and smiled at Draco. "My, my, Draco, it has been a while hasn't it?"

He tried desperately to form a response that didn't sound stupid, and Riddle sat observing him as if Draco had already made a fool of himself.

"Draco has recently taken time off of work," Lucius said stiffly, glancing at his son. "A vacation of sorts."

"Really," Riddle raised a delicate eyebrow, and turned to Lucius. "And what have you to say about his decision?"

Lucius sighed deeply, and just as he made to respond the waiter came and introduced himself. Draco ordered a tonic water, and Lucius settled for wine. "I am naturally disappointed, but I find that most of my son's choices are somewhat beneficial."

Draco watched them carefully as he added lemon to his water. Riddle smiled, "It is only instinct for a parent to want what's best for his son. I only have to wonder about the tabloids lately, Lucius."

"Draco," his father turned toward him, folding his hands impatiently. They expected some sort of response from him, and he closed his gaping mouth long enough to smile uncertainly.

"Well, the papers are mistaken about a lot of things," he managed to defend himself before the onslaught of accusations. Riddle, however, simply smirked, and his handsome face complemented the mask.

"Really? But you are acquainted with a Mr. Potter, am I correct?" He watched as Riddle took a sip of his wine. Gulping, Draco nodded and shrugged one shoulder.

"He's my roommate, it's very hard to ignore him most of the time."

Lucius gave him a stern glare, but Riddle smiled outright. "Yes, Harry is anything but unnoticeable. I've had a close eye on him for quite a while. He's striking, wouldn't you say Lucius?"

His father started a little at being addressed, but nodded promptly. "Very striking, just like his parents."

Draco was now thoroughly confused. Their first course was set on the table, and they were all distracted by the meal for a moment. It was barely long enough in Draco's opinion, before Riddle continued his interrogation.

"Tell me Draco," he said, moving the mint leaf on his plate to the side. "Do you value your father's company?"

"Of course I do," he nodded, and his father scoffed next to him. Riddle glanced at Lucius and smirked.

"Then you must be very happy to know that your father wishes that you gain all of his assets when he retires. Including my old company."

"Of course." Draco replied shortly. "I have always known."

"Then why endanger the company with these malicious headlines," and to show that he'd most definitely noticed them, Riddle plopped a paper onto the table in front of them and leaned back. "And untruthful accusations upon your person. You are to be the head of the company when Lucius steps down. What will you do if you look like," Riddle bit his lip and cocked it to the side, "A joke?"

Draco clenched his jaw together, aware of the strong silence between them. So outraged that Riddle could say something so hurtful, and yet honest, Draco could barely speak.

"I can assure you, sir," he got out. "That my relationship with Mr. Potter will have no bases when it comes to running the company that you so generously gave to my father."

"Gave?" Riddle laughed, "Draco, honestly. I don't give, in fact, I'm still a partner to Madison and David, how do you think I can afford the fine suits and luxury dinners?" Another laugh, and Draco snapped his mouth shut.

"And here you thought that was the only endearing quality about me," Riddle shook his head, eyes bright and sharp. That handsome face turned to his father and smiled. "Your son is very entertaining."

Lucius nodded unsurely, but shot Draco a desperate glance once Riddle had turned away. Draco interpreted that look as one of worry, and he fixed his eyes onto his plate.

"What he means to say, Draco, is that you fraternizing with that artist, will not be good for business." Lucius set his fork and knife down. "In fact, Draco, I must ask you to make a choice."

Riddle swirled his wine around, watching it spiral as he addressed them. "There is no possible way Madison and David can be handled by you while you're with Mr. Potter."

Draco looked to his father, who patted his mouth with his napkin and gave a very soft nod in his direction. He breathed in deeply, his eyes darting back and forth between the two men. Draco opened and closed his mouth, angry and baffled and too upset to form the right words.

"This doesn't make any sense."

"Please, Draco," Lucius said sharply. "You must know that most of our clients and employees are averse to same sex pairings. For now it is simply speculation, but if you openly admit that nothing is going on . . . "

"Something is going on! We're together and I'm happy. This doesn't make any sense . . . "

Riddle smirked at him. "You have to make a choice."

"And if I refuse the ownership?" Draco asked, ignoring his father's indignant expression. Riddle set his wine glass down and reached into his pocket for a cigarette. He lit it, and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"Then Lucius is obliged to hand over the company to me."

Draco didn't know why Riddle had left Madison and David in the first place. He remembered that he hadn't seen the man in a very long time, but in the last few months that he was around there were always police men at the company and his home. Suspicion blossomed deep within him, and he glared fiercely at Riddle.

"And that, I'm sure, is the worst possible choice."

From the look on Riddle's face, he was slightly taken aback, but soon smirked in amusement. "You're a handful," he turned to Lucius. "A very daring young man you have here."

Draco watched him take another drag from his cigarette. "I don't think this has anything to do with me being with Harry. None of this adds up."

"Oh yes, of course," Lucius gave him a very agitated glare. "What you need to be worrying about is whether you will inherit the company, or whether Mr. Riddle plans to take over."

Lucius looked at him in despair, which clearly and totally said 'don't give up, Draco' and their father and son moment explained quite a lot. Lucius was on his side, and that was good . . . but with Riddle to deal with . . . Draco was petrified of the man.

"Your job," Riddle distracted him. "Is to choose between love and work."

"Love and family." His father corrected. "And in the end, it shouldn't be much of a choice at all."

Now completely overwhelmed, Draco threw up his hands in a very undignified manner. "I don't understand what's going on! You come out of nowhere," Draco pointed at Riddle. "Right when I don't need you, and demand that I make some ridiculous choice? What the hell is going on?"

His outburst attracted a few people dining next to them, but otherwise, Lucius' expression was masked, and Riddle simply raised an eyebrow. Draco watched Riddle lean forward, his dark hair flickering in the light from the candle center piece, and his lips exhaling a puff of smoke.

"Why don't you ask that roommate of yours? Though he's been known to lie quite a bit, I'd suggest you question him."

"I...well," Draco shook his head. "I need to think about this."

He stood, ignoring his father's cold and angry countenance, and turned away from Riddle, who reclined back into his chair and brought his cigarette back toward his mouth.

"Draco," Riddle called after him, and he turned, however reluctantly. "Have you asked Harry about his parents? James Potter used to work for me, he was a good man, though, if Harry's anything like his father, he had better be careful."

"Is that a threat?" Draco snapped, and his father looked slightly shocked as well. Riddle simply smiled.

"No, rather I think you should get your answers soon enough. You can come see me when you do."

Riddle pulled out a card from his pocket and handed it to him, he accepted it meekly. "If I were you, Draco," a cloud of smoke trailed from Riddle's attractive looking smile. "I'd check and see what's in that backpack of his."


	24. Steady Intuition

Suspicion, when directed toward someone usually fairly trustworthy, is a dangerous thing. Draco Malfoy knew suspicion well, having lived a cautions and quietly analytical life. The kind of scepticism that made his stomach turn and his head spin, was perhaps in his opinion– the worst. Out of seemingly nowhere, someone he once thought honest, and only endearingly unreliable, had become an object of close speculation.

It began when every word the person said was heard differently, followed by their actions being strange and statements suddenly weighted. When he started to truly see them with an all-too questioning air, they transformed before his very eyes. At least, most people Draco looked at critically had something wrong with them. Sadly enough, Draco was very much so in love, and desperately grasping strings of faith that seemed to be slipping through his fingers.

His renewed pessimism did a horrible job on his mood. Unusually taciturn, and silently thoughtful, everyone from Harry to Blaise seemed to notice his odd withdrawal. Yet, he waited and watched with anxious eyes, and the object of his involuntary inspection did the exact opposite to what most suspicious people do. He remained the same, and Draco was perplexed.

He wasn't stupid, he knew that Harry was involved in something pretty heavy, and that he had just been dragged into the middle. His head, like all love cliches, was telling him it meant more than that...and that there was always the chance that he had been played. His heart, naturally, told him that love would conquer all.

In the business world, however, that belief was a load of rot.

The temperature had dropped very suddenly over the weekend, and he gathered his jacket closer to his body as he walked back to Remus' place.

He was almost unrecognizable as Draco Malfoy that day, because of his rather casual attire. Dressed in a simple green mousy, with a borrowed black 'Crotch Fire' shirt and blue jeans, Draco seemed strangely out of place with his hair undone and hanging loosely and his hands around his body in a warm embrace.

His usual character expressed sure confidence and perfectionist tendencies. The Draco hurrying down the street in ice cold weather and one of Blaise's shirts simply wanted to go home.

Draco's car was being detailed and his bumper replaced, after Blaise had rear-ended him on his way home from dinner with his father and Riddle. He had been so angry, so completely frazzled, that he went crazy on his friend and had cussed him out spectacularly. Blaise didn't give him an inch, and proclaimed that Draco was a 'fucker' and had driven off.

He supposed he owed Blaise an apology, since he usually maintained a patient sort of indifference around his best friend's uncouth manner. He also owed Harry an apology as well, seeing as he had ignored the artist and slammed his door closed with a yelled goodnight. His own dramatics had pumped adrenaline into his blood, but when he'd finally slipped into bed and turned out the light – he had felt like crying.

Why, of all times, was this happening?

The following days were filled with tense conversations and quiet, tormented, thoughts. By the middle of the week, Draco had run himself into the ground, and every bit of his distress was easily seen in his appearance and actions. What on earth had happened?

His trainers squelched on the wet ground, since the city had been lost in sleet and snow since the night before. The sound of passing traffic and murmuring voices didn't seem to distract him, and he momentarily stopped to pull gloves out of his back pocket. Harry had told him to take them since it was cold, and since he would be walking back from the car shop with blizzard white clouds hovering over him. He slipped them on and his hands defrosted.

The sound of a police siren racing down the street made his stride quicken, and he thought about a nice warm cup of coffee to motivate his steps. When he did finally climb up the stoop to the shop, he had to shake the snowflakes out of his jacket and pants. The bell over the door jingled, and he was instantly greeted with the sight of an empty counter.

Mrs. Sprout popped her head out from the greenhouse doorway, and smiled absently.

"They're all upstairs, dear. Though I think Remus is getting his mail," she turned away.

"Who's upstairs?" he grumbled.

Her head appeared again, this time with an impatient frown. "Zabini, Harry, and I think Dennis, though he did say something about a movie..." Mrs. Sprout drifted off for a moment, and Draco noticed the phone in her hand. "Any who, go have a look."

She went back to talking and Draco took off his jacket. He knew Blaise was supposed to be working today, and wanted very much to barge into the loft and tell him so, but then that would only leave Draco vulnerable to accusations of being rude to him the day before. Harry had right to be standoffish as well. He settled for marching up the stairs and walking in quietly.

Harry was leaning over the coffee table and adjusting the camera when he came in, and Blaise was sitting on the side of the couch looking pleased with himself. Dennis was laying out a tarp beneath the white patch of paint that would become a mural.

"Draco!" Harry said, giving him a small smile. "We're starting the installation. You're just in time."

Having no idea what Harry planned to do with that camera-Draco wasn't all that enthusiastic.

"He won't go camera happy on you again, Draco. I'm pretty sure he erased the porn," Blaise said, reading his mind. He ignored that last bit and Blaise's obviously disappointed expression.

"It was an accident!" Harry said heatedly, proving that they had already argued the issue before hand.

Draco came in and tossed his jacket onto the couch, before slipping off the gloves and sitting down. He placed them next to the camera and knocked knees with Harry as they listened to Blaise complain.

"We're going to make it a four-day process, with four hour intervals of painting, and then another four hours of eating only what I paint on the mural."

"Four hours...what?! You are not painting food on the wall, and we are not eating your organic crap," Draco protested.

Harry smirked. "You have a crease in your eyebrow when you frown, did you know?"

"Translation: I was joking jackass," Blaise said, getting ready to light a cigarette.

"Don't smoke in here!" Draco stood menacingly, not in any particular mood to spar.

Dennis got to his feet. "Can I try that?" he said to Blaise, indicating his lit cigarette.

"Sure."

"No!" Both Harry and Draco protested. "Jesus, Blaise how are you ever going to raise any fucking kids?"

Draco stepped over Harry's paints and walked toward the sink to put the kettle on. "I'll have you know," objected Blaise. "That Dennis here is old enough to decide for himself if he wants..."

"...to get cancer..." Harry muttered.

"...impress the ladies." Blaise glared at Harry. "Or if you're like Harry, you lean toward the penis brigade."

"Let's not fight," Dennis raised both hands. "I won't try it, okay?"

Draco poured hot water into his instant coffee and raised an eyebrow at them. "Now what's this about the four-hour thing?"

Harry shook his head and grinned. "I was kidding. Actually, I'm just going to start painting and film whatever happens. I didn't plan on having them here..." he jutted a thumb toward Dennis and Blaise (an opportune moment for them to strike a pose) and he shrugged. "But I suppose it will be less boring that way."

"You're two of the most famous people in the papers right now," Dennis muttered. "I don't think you need us to attract attention."

"Of course he does," Blaise exhaled, scowling. "We're highly enthralling young men with personality to boot!"

Draco took a long sip of his coffee.

"We're going to make this the best installment ever!"

"Installation."

"Whatever."

Harry explained to them, patiently, that most times there was a certain amount of symbolism and abstract thought involved in the piece. Harry admitted that he usually just winged it and threw up something brilliant onto a canvas. Draco could believe it, having seen Harry work, and having heard Harry's theory about 'sporadic inspiration'.

While he was telling them, the red light on the camera continued to record, and eventually, Harry stood across from the mural in the thinking pose. Blaise copied him as they conversed quietly in the background.

"How's school?" Draco asked Dennis, with his eyes on Harry.

"It's grand. We got out early today, so I thought I'd hang out around here. I've never seen Harry paint before."

Looking into his empty mug, Draco frowned. "It's certainly an interesting experience."

"Yeah," Blaise interrupted. "Listen to Wonder Bread Boy, he knows."

Harry had started painting already, with quick globs of green and white, and a look of deep concentration on his face.

"Yeah well, at least I'm not disabled."

Blaise scowled. "You had to bring that up."

"What?" Dennis asked, and Draco sighed.

"We haven't told you yet I guess," he ignored the glare he was receiving from his best friend. "Blaise always uses the handicapped restroom in public places."

Dennis started laughing.

"It's not funny! Those stalls are fucking big, and if I'm taking a shit I want a lot of room."

"But they're for handicapped people," Draco said slowly. "And even though you did ride the short bus when you went to school, I really don't think retards have an issue with enclosed spaces."

"Well I do. I like that stall, okay?"

Harry turned around, accidently smudging paint on his cheek. "Don't get so defensive."

"That's not the best part though," Draco said mildly. "He always uses it, even if there are empty stalls next to him, and the handicapped stall is always open."

"It waits for you..." Dennis said dramatically.

"And every time," Draco continued. "Some disabled person comes in seconds after he sits his ass down, and has to wait while Blaise enjoys the stall they should rightfully be defecating in."

"That's horrible," Harry squirted a bottle of gray paint onto the wall. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

"It's not my fault!" He snapped. "And then they look at me like I've stolen their walkers, or left a smell, just because I don't hobble out of the handicapped stall and make it look like I belonged in there."

"He laughs nervously, and says, 'It's all yours!'" Draco imitated his voice.

"You're a jerk. You couldn't have said sorry?" Harry had his back turned, and Draco looked at the mural curiously as it gained color.

A dip in the couch signaled that Blaise had tilted backward and swung and arm over his eyes. "Some of them were deaf, so I just shrugged."

"You take their parking spaces as well."

"What is this? Pick-on-Blaise day? Fuck."

While Blaise did an extreme amount of complaining in a little amount of time, Draco slowly sipped his coffee and thought. He was a bit confused that Harry wasn't mad at him, and Blaise, well, he hadn't claimed to be able to predict him so he wasn't in the least bit surprised there. He knew he'd get a lecture from Remus about taking his 'bad days' out on everybody else, but otherwise things seemed to be okay for a while. At least, the anxiety in him had settled.

He watched Harry paint, the steady dab, stroke, bristle, dab, stroke, bristle, that was oddly comforting and familiar. Harry's wrist would bend delicately as he spread the paint around, and Draco's eyes followed his hands to his rolled up black and white baseball shirt. His hair was askew, sliding in his eyes now and again, and Harry would toss his head to the side to get rid of it, refraining from blowing it away, seeing as there was an extra brush in his mouth.

Draco looked at Harry's painting, watching his paintbrush as it left behind what looked like green clouds, as the other colors he'd squirted onto the wall were starting to take shape. Harry had a thin layer of gray as his background as well, chalking out shapes like blue skies outlined clouds.

He suddenly wished that they were alone, so he could simply sit and stare, without the thought of Blaise and Dennis in the back of his mind. Draco figured he could just sit and stare forever, and he'd be okay. He turned his gaze back onto his now lukewarm coffee, aware that Blaise had been close to calling him out on being fluffy.

"Harry, we need some fucking music in this joint," Blaise proclaimed suddenly, popping a cigarette wielding hand in the air.

Harry pointed to the kitchen absently. "The stereo's on the counter."

"Blaise, no thrash, we're not in the mood."

Blaise looked slightly offended for a moment. "You're not in the mood for thrash, but I am."

"How about Classic Rock?" Dennis suggested.

"How about you shut up?" Blaise snapped.

"How about you stop bossing everyone around...Harry's the one painting, let him chose!" Surprised, Draco looked at Dennis, who shrugged.

Harry turned, having heard his name, and looked so ridiculous with paint smudged on his face and a brush in his mouth that Draco sniggered. "What?"

"Nice, Potter, real nice."

"Let's listen to the radio..."

"No!" There, that was Blaise and Harry. Draco looked at them both in mild interest.

"Not the radio! Don't you know anything?"

"There's some CD's on that shelf over there..." Harry supplied.

"Thank you, Harry, that was the only intelligent comment I've heard all day!"

"You should really quit talking to yourself Blaise," said Draco.

The day went on like that for quite a while, and Draco was surprised Harry was still able to paint with all of the ruckus going on around him. Blaise managed to turn on some Reggae (whether that belonged to Harry he didn't want to know) and when they got tired of that they had a rather dramatic fight over what to put on next. Ever the voice of reason, Harry settled with horns and background synthesizers and they calmed down to watch him work.

All the while, the little red light on the camera blinked, and brief moments where one of them talked into the screen were frequent. They ordered pizza what must have been hours later, and Remus came up to deliver it to them, confused.

"Did you guys order a pizza or am I getting psyched?"

"Psyched? Holy fuck. I haven't heard that since High School."

In a rare act of sharing a moment, Blaise and Draco turned to each other. "Psyche!"

"No one says that anymore," Dennis assured them.

"Did you order a pizza or not?"

"We ordered two pizzas," Blaise nodded. "Why do you only have one?"

"We ordered one, moron." Draco stepped forward and took it from Remus, who nodded thankfully; the bottom was hot. Draco placed it on the counter and waved for Remus to sit down.

"What? I told you to order me a cheese!"

"Harry likes cheese," he dodged the glare Harry sent him and corrected himself. "...So he can take it off easily, so we just got half cheese half bacon..."

"Fuck! I can't believe this!"

"What's his issue?" Remus asked Draco.

"He gets like this every time there's food. If he feels like he's not getting his fair share, he pitches a fit. It's pretty funny."

Dennis starting eating. "No!" shouted Blaise. "That's our cheese!"

"I don't really want any..." Harry piped up awkwardly. They all turned to look at him, and he fidgeted as if a spotlight was shining in his face.

"You're eating, you didn't eat last night," Draco said.

Harry scowled. "Neither did you."

Remus had grabbed another piece of cheese meanwhile, ignoring Blaise who stood by them in distress. "No, not the cheese!"

Eating proved an ample distraction for Blaise so Harry could make headway on the mural. Draco's eyes still followed him, though, and he was sure Harry could feel his heated stare. Their talk was companionable, and ever so often Harry would offer a muffled comment and then go back to painting. Pretty soon, the complete outline was finished, and Harry began to add a plethora of details with a little blue pencil he had in his back pocket.

"What's this then, Remus?" Dennis suddenly said, garnering Draco's attention.

He was holding what looked like a snapshot of rolling deserts and near-dead acacia. The return address simply said Nairobi, Kenya. Blaise took the postcard from his hand and grimaced.

"Why did Severus go here, again?"

"I told him to take a picture, not buy a postcard." Remus huffed. "Though that acacia is rather fascinating..."

"Holy shit..." Blaise tossed the postcard back to him, and Dennis snatched it up quickly.

"Wait, what does it say?"

There was a brief moment when Blaise thought it over and then lunged for it, about the same time Remus wanted his postcard back. They had a minor scuffle, and Draco took the last slice of cheese. Eventually, Blaise overpowered them in his zeal, and he turned it over and smirked.

"'Remus, greetings from Kenya, isn't the acacia fascinating...'" Blaise stopped reading. "What the fuck?! You must have one hell of a sex life, because neither of you are fantastic conversationalists."

Remus took the postcard back forcefully. "We're botanists. We do flowers..."

"And hopefully each other, though the conversations have to be orgasmic, I can't think of any other reason why you would have them..." Blaise shook his head.

Remus shrugged. "We eat a lot."

"Sounds like the perfect relationship." Draco didn't necessarily know what made him say it, but Harry threw a playful glare at him.

"Oh ho!" His best friend leaned across the table to tap Draco's nose, but his hand was swatted away quickly. "And you sure know about perfect relationships..."

"I think he's doing pretty well so far," Harry said, and tossed his head to get rid of a strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes.

"Well, would you look at that." Blaise sat back down heavily, grinning. "He's enough to make you melt, Draco, go give him that kiss you know you want to give him."

"Blaise, shut up."

"Did you want to kiss me?" Harry asked slyly.

"Stop egging him on," Draco got up and took his plate to the sink. "You're almost worse than he is."

The comment could have been the start of a blazing row between the two, but Harry waved off Draco's irritation and went back to painting.

Surprisingly, the hours went by extremely fast, and soon Remus was back down stairs and Blaise and Dennis had left. It was the sort of day made for laying around, and Harry and Draco worked about each other, not really doing anything of great importance, but feeling accomplished all the same. Draco thought it was nice to just sit and watch Harry paint, or go over his paperwork and zone out to Harry's slow-beat music and absent-minded humming.

He didn't know what time it was when he fell asleep, but he must have drifted off on the couch without being conscious of it. Draco did know, that when he woke up it was to a flashing red light, and he blinked at it before shooting up into sitting position with laughter in his ears. Harry stood over him with the camera in his face.

"You fell asleep."

Draco rubbed his eyes, still a bit tired. "Thanks for stating the obvious. Why are you taping me?"

Harry shrugged. "Why not?"

That grinning face made it hard to be irritated, and Draco watched his roommate as he walked back toward the mural, with a rather seductive sway. He noticed for the first time that there was a blanket across his lower legs, and he shuffled out of it while eyeing the painting. Harry had just begun to color the details.

"What time is it?" he asked. Harry looked back at him and raised one shoulder, before glancing at the counter.

"Almost five," He slabbed a healthy amount of red paint onto the wall. "Did you have to be somewhere?"

He got up, looking in the pizza box even though he knew very well that there wasn't anymore, and slugged off to the kitchen. "No, I'm here today. I picked up the paperwork yesterday so I should be okay all week."

"You're going to be here all week?" Harry said, and there was excitement in his voice. He flung down his paintbrush and put one behind his ear before nearly skipping over to the counter and leaning against it.

"Let's do something, go for a walk in the park, see a concert...something."

Draco looked at him, happy to see eyes bright with joy at the prospect of having an entire week alone with Draco. He was flattered, and a little excited himself.

"But your art show is this Saturday. Don't you have to be working on that?"

Harry smiled. "I've already got everything set up for it. I just need to finish this installation."

"Do you need a video tech for that or something?"

"No, the editing is part of the project." Harry shuffled his feet a bit, hands still planted on the counter. "This is probably the only week you'll have off that we can really have any fun."

"You know," Draco said as he poured himself a glass of water. "If Blaise were here he'd think that was suggestive."

Shyly, almost as if he were about to blush, Harry grinned. "What if it was?"

Draco to a rather large gulp of his water. "Let's go to a movie, yeah?"

Harry was silent, and Draco nearly slapped himself on the head. "I mean, in a romantic sense, I should be taking you out first..."

"Romantic?"

He really, really wanted to run head long into a wall.

"You know what I mean," he waved a hand nervously. "It's always fun to go to the movies, right?"

Part of the reason he was stalling was the fact he didn't think he could trust himself with idle conversation. His conscience was telling him to ask, ask, ask, those little words 'what's in your backpack?!' and even the promise of sex didn't seem like enough distraction. He didn't especially want to know, and that he supposed was the main reason for his nervousness.

Harry suddenly laughed at him. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Oh I'm great, just fine...fantastic," Draco swore he would kill himself once the night was over, since it seemed all those years of keeping his cool and being completely savvy were wanting payback.

"Okay. Let's go to a movie."

Draco was very tempted to throw the idea out of the window and devour that smirk Harry was sporting. They didn't have to talk while having sex, and he briefly knew that he would be distracted enough to not think about that stupid backpack...

"No movie," he blurted out suddenly.

Harry raised both eyebrows. "You want to stay here."

"Yes-no!" Draco looked heavenward. What the hell was wrong with him? "I mean, let's do something way romantic...so romantic, you'll want to gag."

"This is sort of sounding like something I wouldn't voluntarily do, Draco..."

"Right," he frowned. "Right. Er..."

"How about I take you out, something simple, and you won't have to worry about it." Harry was grinning, and Draco felt stupid.

"Sounds great. Should I call a cab?"

"Alright."

There was one major problem with their seemingly brilliant plan.

Harry took the backpack with him.

Draco was now staring at it as they took a cab across the city. They had decided to just have dinner at a place Harry had said was 'fun' and Draco hadn't needed to make any hard decisions. He glared at it the entire way there, very aware that Harry too distracted by the scenery to notice.

When the pulled up to a place called Ven a Mi Draco took one look and smiled. "I thought they didn't have salsa bars in Manhattan."

Harry turned his head and grinned, pulling the cab door open. "According to Blaise."

He thought that he could probably write an entire encyclopedia about things 'according to Blaise' but then he'd have to be crazy to waste all that time on the stupid stuff Blaise said.

It seemed then, to Draco Malfoy, that he would never be able to escape the hole he'd fallen into. He would never be able to condemn Harry for having a past that was nowhere perfect, and he couldn't make assumptions because it degraded all that Harry was. While they danced and talked about nothing, he felt ecstatic rather than frustrated. He had finally found someone, not perfect, but so close it was scary.

Draco liked to think that Harry thought the same way about him. Every now and again the artist would look at him in a way that said 'I'm surprised, but happy, that you are with me'. Time didn't matter when they were together, and the night went by with laughter and something like true companionship. He was ignoring the butterflies in his stomach, and enjoying a moment with someone he could finally admit that he loved.

At one point, he wasn't sure if the Draco from four months ago would be able to tolerate the Draco sitting next to Harry drinking an extremely colorful margarita. He knew that the Draco from yesterday might have just killed himself to escape the 'sappy'.

He would have to apologize to Remus the next morning, because they made a considerable amount of noise coming home that night. Harry had initiated a kiss in the cab that hadn't ended when they'd stumbled up the stairs. Rather Draco took turns shoving Harry up against the wall and kissing him passionately, with Harry's laughter in his ears and a smile on his own face.

They weren't drunk, but noticeably goofy as they pushed the door open to the loft, and well, the grinning and fondling sort of died when they got a good look at the apartment.

The expression on their faces dropped comically. "Fuck..."

Someone, no telling who, had ransacked their living space. Clothes, papers, and paints were strewn about the floor, and Draco's very expensive pinstriped Armani Exchange suit was hanging over a lamp. "Holy shit," were the only words he could manage.

Harry walked ahead of him slowly, picking up a destroyed blank canvas and grimacing. He suddenly snapped his head up and his eyes widened. "Remus!"

Draco watched him run back to the door and throw it open. "Oh, great, worry about the flower guy when our apartment's destroyed!" He yelled, as Harry bounded back down the stairs.

He ran after Harry anyway, and Remus, who had heard the yelling, was just turning on a light. "Are you alright?!" Harry asked, panicked.

"Of course he's alright," Draco said, panting. "He's just pissed we woke him up."

Remus ran both palms across his eyes and shook his head to get rid of his grogginess. "It's three-thirty, Harry," he said, looking at his clock. "But what's the matter, I was awake anyway."

Sarcasm. "Someone broke into the loft upstairs," Harry looked sheepish.

"What!" Remus walked past them quickly, and they were running up the stairs again. "Oh crap..."

They followed the botanist back down so that Remus could inspect the front door.

"Were you here tonight?" Draco asked a bit accusingly.

"Draco!" Harry scowled, then said in a kinder tone to Remus, "You weren't here were you?"

Remus shook his head, looking remorseful. "No, I went out and had a few drinks with Sirius. I didn't even notice, Harry, I'm sorry..."

"They broke into your shop as well, and we didn't do it, so it's no one's fault."

Harry looked at his feet. "Well, I am sorry. It was my fault, I-"

Draco suddenly realized all that the break in entitled, and his eyes went from Harry's face to the backpack that was still on his shoulders. He had a brief of vision of the non-pussy Draco grabbing the bag and emptying it out on the floor. He was barely able to stop himself.

"Harry, it's okay. Though they have done this before...earlier, before the New Year..."

Harry nodded, remembering.

"They've done it before?" Draco hadn't known that. "Did you report it?"

He tried not to notice how Harry's attention snapped up when Draco mentioned the police.

"They didn't steal anything, so the cops didn't seem to think it was that serious..."

"There probably is a police report though," Draco looked away. "Should we call the cops, then? They've vandalized the place."

Remus looked unsure, and glanced from Draco to Harry. "It'll end up in the tabloids, sure thing."

"'Draco Malfoy's apartment was broken into last night, nothing was stolen and no one noticed until hours later...'" Draco scoffed. "Great story."

"Do you want to report it? They did a lot of damage from what I could see."

"A lot," Draco grew frustrated, suddenly, with Harry's silence. He nudged the quiet out of him. "A lot, right?"

Harry looked up, apprehension his eyes, and nodded. "I suppose so."

"Well then that settles it," Remus slipped his sneakers on and pulled a jacket around himself. Draco noticed for the first time that the man was still in jeans and a tee-shirt.

"Did you get home late?" Draco asked.

Remus glanced at the clock. "About an hour ago, I'm sorry, I should have noticed that someone had gotten in."

"But the door wasn't forced open," Harry said, confidently. "No bricks, no broken glass... there was broken glass last time."

"What if they picked the lock?" said Draco, and Harry looked at him doubtfully. "What? They always do it in the movies!"

"And that's why I chose not to see a movie with you," Harry muttered. "Actually, the doors lock from the inside, so they would have had to break the window."

"Crime Scene Investigator over here," Draco jutted a thumb at him.

Their frustration with each other was reaching new heights. "I don't see you making any conclusions, oh wait, I forgot about the 'lock picking' thing that was rather brilliant on your part, considering it locks from the inside!"

"How do you know about this shit, anyway? It's more than a little suspicious."

It was the closest Draco had ever come to calling Harry out on his secrets. Luckily, Remus chose to intervene.

"Let's just calm down please," he looked tired. "I've just thought. I don't think we should report it."

"But if it happens again the police won't take us seriously because we didn't report it," Draco objected fiercely.

Harry scoffed, but didn't say anything. Draco wanted to accost his roommate about the obvious amusement Harry felt towards the NYPD, but Remus spoke over him.

"Alright, alright, we're not going to report it."

"Why not?!"

"Draco, calm down," and Draco suddenly noticed that Remus kept shooting strange looks at Harry. "I don't think it will do us any good. But we can decide what to do, for sure, in the morning."

"Fine," Draco said, but refused to give up. "We'll talk about it in the morning."

Remus went back into his room and shut the door, and Harry turned the light out while Draco was already half way up the stairs. They didn't talk to each other as they assessed the damage, and began to put the loft back together.

Perhaps the most disappointing thing about the entire mess, was that Harry's mural had been ruined as well. A large streak of black paint had been added to the painting, running through his sketch and all of the work he'd done earlier on in the day. Harry ignored it as they cleaned up, and Draco felt guilty for yelling at him.

He felt as if something tragic had happened (besides his Armani being thrown about the room) and a part of him wanted to console Harry. The other voice in his head, like Doctor Faust before he was damned, said that it had been Harry's fault in the first place. Draco's eyes strayed toward the backpack.

Harry was standing in front of the mural, clutching crumpled pieces of paper in his hands, and contemplating the ruin of his painting.

"I'm sorry," Draco managed tightly. "I mean, that they screwed it up and all."

The artist turned toward him, scowling. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Confusion, and a lot of surprise. "The mural, now that it's messed up, I don't know what you're going to do with it..."

Harry seemed honestly perplexed, and turned completely around to look at Draco as if there were pigs flying about his head. "What I'm going to do with it?"

Still clutching the trash in his hand, Harry broke into a fit of laughter. "Actually, I think it's what I've been looking for."

"What?"

Harry turned back to the mural and tilted his head. "There was something wrong with it before, and now there isn't."

Draco could sense no sarcasm in his tone, and since Harry wasn't all that sarcastic much, he could honestly say that Harry was pleased with his painting being destroyed. Well...not really destroyed he supposed...

The grin on his roommate's face made him want to smile too. They met each other's companionable silence and Draco made a jump for the other side of the cliff.

"Is there something, anything, that you, uh, want to tell me?"

A loaded statement, so loaded in fact that the tension rose drastically. Draco flushed a bit, and watched the expression of content change to slight panic on Harry's face, until it settled on completely unreadable.

"There are things...I want to tell you."

Was he going to cry? Draco watched Harry apprehensively, suddenly sorry he asked and wishing he was anywhere else but there.

"Things I can't really tell you without making me seem like an idiot. I mean, there's a lot you don't know about me, and I want you to know. But it's...complicated."

"Complicated," Draco repeated slowly. "This," he waved his hand to the barely cleaned up apartment. "Has something to do with you, am I right?"

Harry looked down, his hair falling into his face very slightly and his hands buried in the pockets of his jean jacket. "Yeah, it does."

"And you can't tell me."

"I will tell you...but everything's alright now, isn't it? Why do we have to ruin anything?"

To Draco, it felt like their conversation had gone in one huge, pointless circle. Harry had basically told him what he already knew, and he was left without any further questions, and no balls to ask them with. Stuck, and suddenly very tired, Draco sat down on the couch heavily.

He felt the couch shift next to him, and could almost see Harry's meek form sitting hesitantly behind his closed eyelids. Then Harry leaned back and bumped shoulders with him.

"We don't have to ruin it," Draco assured, opening his eyes to stare at his roommate. "It's just, I'd like you to be honest with me."

Harry looked at his lap and nodded. Draco sighed. "But we don't have to say anything now...if that's what you want."

What was he doing? Harry had said that he would tell him and now he was reckoning that it could wait? Somewhere, deep inside Draco's strange mind, his intuition was telling him that hearing what Harry had to say would be the end of their relationship. He knew he didn't want it to end. Not by a long shot.

Harry seemed surprised as well. "I am sorry."

That sounded too much like break up words, and just to reassure his racing heart, Draco leaned across the space between them and kissed him slowly. Harry was kissing him back, affectionately, and Draco wrapped a hand around Harry's neck and pulled him closer.

Anything unsaid, was everything unsaid, and it could wait.

"Our relationship is at the point where everything is a puzzle," Harry turned away from the window and sighed. "I wish it was still blue skies, you know?"

"Considering it's been raining since yesterday night," he turned to Remus and smiled. The botanist shook his head, sweeping out the wet leaves that had trailed into the shop. "I don't understand the both of you, and I don't think I ever will."

"Not every relationship can be as fairytale as you and Severus," Harry admonished mildly.

Remus switched the broom to his other hand and grinned a bit sadly. "And yet he's in Kenya, and I'm here."

A roll of thunder briefly interrupted their conversation, and Harry looked back out of the window at the stormy black clouds. "You miss him. That's sweet."

"Since I know you're not being sarcastic, I'll say yes, I do miss him." Remus stopped sweeping and rubbed his hands against his trousers. "It's strange being in love, almost like you forget what it's like to be alone, and then it's worse when you're alone and in love."

"I'm mildly alarmed with how much that made sense," and Harry grinned.

Draco was out with Blaise, doing who knows what, and Harry was working. The blond didn't like staying around the place while he was working, Draco fidgeted too much with Harry so close and not paying any attention to him.

The rain came down hard and fast, a relief, since it meant that the weather was warming and there would be less sleet and snow. A good thing, too, because Harry was just dying to go out on the roof.

"The mural is almost done. I have to edit the footage at the library."

"Doesn't Draco have a laptop you can use?"

Harry frowned. "I hadn't thought of that."

"And if he doesn't he could always buy one, what with all that money he has..."

Swatting at him playfully, Harry walked away from the window ledge and picked up the hose, which had slowly trickled water down through the pots of tiny shrubs.

"You're usually not one to judge Mr. Lupin," Harry gave him a mock glare.

"I never thought I'd see the day that you would defend Draco."

"Me neither," he snorted, and took the broom from his employer. "Anyway, what did Sirius have to say the other night?"

Remus, acknowledging the subject change, raised and an eyebrow and smiled, as if recollecting something. "He says he's going to open up his own shop."

"Really? What kind of shop?"

"I can't tell if he was pulling my leg, but I think a sex shop."

Harry almost dropped the bundle of leaves he'd just swept up. "No, he isn't!"

Laughing, Remus nodded and moved over to the counter, Harry close behind him. "I think so, in uptown Manhattan he says, too."

"Oh my god." Harry looked as if he didn't know whether to laugh or slap his forehead. "Well, you know, more power to him."

"You're thinking of free supplies for you and Draco," Remus said mildly.

Harry's mouth dropped open. "What is wrong with you today?"

"Nothing," he changed the receipt paper in the cash register, and grinned. "I just can't wait until he writes 'coming soon' underneath the shop title, Pleasure Treasures."

Harry laughed. "In Neon, as well."

"So hey," Remus said, suddenly beaming. "Are you excited about this art show of yours? I bet you twenty-bucks the press will be there."

"Oh no," Harry groaned. "You know that they're still writing about us?"

"Of course," he leaned against the counter, just as Harry hopped up. "They can't seem to get over Draco breaking Pansy's heart over you."

"And I haven't heard of any protests outside of Madison and David either, I'd think they'd be more fixated on the fact that America's pretty boy is gay."

"You're cute enough to pass for a girl," Remus couldn't help but saying. Harry laughed in shock.

"I still don't get how they can go on and on about it..."

Remus put his head into his hand and grinned. "I know. It's just so surprising."

"You sound like Seamus," Harry looked away. "Interested, but tired of being interested."

"Speaking of which, you never talk about him. What's up?"

Harry let out a burst of all-knowing laughter and shook his head. "Now that's history."

"I really want to know," he nudged him. "Why did he start doing drugs?"

It was territory that Harry usually didn't go into, admittedly, but Remus was in a reckless mood and genuinely curious. Green eyes looked him over seriously, slightly apprehensive, and then began to talk in halted, anxious speech.

"I grew up with him. He was on my soccer team as a kid, and then I met him again at boarding school. We just kept running into each other..."

"Sounds like a picturesque friendship."

"Would there be drugs involved if it were?" Harry said bitterly. "When I left school permanently, well, more like disappeared..."

"You ran away from school?"

Harry nodded. "It was too conservative. I felt repressed."

"I'm not even going to go into that with you," Remus said, and then nodded for him to go on.

"Anyway, I stayed with Seamus' parents. Nice people...but fucked up. Seamus' mom left him, he doesn't know if she's dead or alive, and his dad's in prison."

"What did his dad do?" Remus asked, curious.

"Grew a large batch of Vanilla flavored Weed in his backyard."

"Delicious."

"He's still in jail," Harry adjusted his seat on the counter. "Seamus got into drugs really early, he can't...help it."

Remus tossed his head to the side in agreement. "At least you're compassionate. I'm guessing you get a lot of people criticizing you for helping him."

Harry nodded softly. "He can't help it."

"Most people can't help themselves."

They had addressed two sincere issues of importance. Both of which meant more than just what was wrong with the place they lived in and the people they encountered. Harry knew hatred, just as Remus did, and speaking of Seamus who had to deal with judging eyes and impassive souls more than anyone else, had put a down-tempo on the day.

Truth was something Harry was afraid of, and Remus had summed up the last half of his life aptly. People couldn't help themselves, and Harry couldn't help himself either. He wouldn't know for a very long time that Draco showed a self-restraint that not many possessed. That Draco would come home that night and give Harry a very affectionate greeting, and that Draco, in showing a great deal of understanding and faith-had decided not to open Harry's backpack.


	25. Installation Application

The mattress he was laying on was unnaturally comfortable. He'd never even thought of putting the bed on the floor and sleeping on it, because it was decidedly far-fetched and inelegant. Laying there, looking at his roommate's relaxed face and sleep mussed hair-Draco wondered why he'd never slept on the floor before.

His head was surprisingly clear, as if he'd gotten a good night's rest without really planning to, and waking up to a slumbering Harry was ideal in his mind. Draco had never really been fascinated by someone before, and he squinted a bit at Harry's unstrained expression, hoping to find answers, possibly, in the freckle on the side of Harry's nose.

It must have been so early that Draco was delirious, as he got up and stumbled to the kitchen with dog ear socks. The tap was freezing when he turned it on, and the water tasted metallic and gross. Draco swirled it around his mouth for half a second, made an expression of distaste, and spat it back into the sink.

The sun was shining through the stained glass, and Draco looked briefly around the apartment. Next to the door was five plastic-wrapped canvases, and a projector. Harry had placed them there the night before, hoping that the following morning they would be able to leave early and set up at the gallery. Draco had surprisingly volunteered to help out all day until the show started at nine. Blaise had said he would drop by as well.

As was standard in the loft, Draco immediately turned on the stereo, listening to some morning ambiance that would wake both inhabitants up quite aptly. Harry stirred on his mattress, turning over and raising his arm above his head in a stretch. His shirt briefly rode up his stomach and Draco raised an eyebrow as he put on the coffee.

The day promised to be highly eventful, and his own excitement for Harry overpowered any anxiety he'd sported the last few weeks. He put cream and sugar in his mug and waited; watching as his roommate continued to turn in a light doze. Draco listened a bit closer, and could faintly hear chatter from downstairs, which meant that Remus had already opened his doors, or that Mrs. Sprout had arrived for work.

Harry had taken the day off, a good move according to Draco, but only for setting up the show. He'd been working nonstop for a week, and though Draco had been home, they had hardly seen each other. Not to mention that once Harry was done with his work with Remus, he went right back to painting, and that took many hours away from sleeping.

Harry was never tired physically, but Draco was sure he got headaches from all that thinking he did. Draco rarely saw him completely still and calm, even though Harry was generally a taciturn sort of fellow. He never freaked out or anything, not like Draco did when it came to work. Draco could throw a royal fit if he tried hard enough.

He threw the filter away and closed the spoon drawer with a little more force than necessary. Harry opened heavy eyelids, and turned to look at the source of the noise.

"What are you doing?"

"Coffee. Come on."

Harry turned his head away with a groan, but got up anyway, his jeans wrinkled and his shirt nearly back to front. Draco handed him a mug and Harry nodded his thanks, pouring his own cup while yawning widely.

"Did you notice that Blaise kept fingering something in his pocket last night at dinner?"

Leaning against the counter, Harry gratefully accepted a coaster and waved a hand at Draco sleepily. "I really don't want to know about what Blaise fingers."

"No," Draco interrupted, giving him a look both amused and menacing. "I meant the ring in his pocket that he plans to give to Hermione."

A brief look of confusion from Harry, and then his eyes widened and he seemed considerably more awake. "A ring?"

"A ring." Draco moved a couple of pans to the other side of the counter and Harry winced from the noise. "I saw it. Usually you're the observant one."

"Observant?"

"Wow, not only are you ugly this early in the morning, but brain dead as well."

Harry flapped a hand at him, unconcerned, but didn't protest. He rubbed his eyes sleepily instead, and toddled off to lay on the couch rather ungracefully. Undeterred, Draco followed him and sat down as well.

"I think it's too soon," he leaned over and fixed his socks.

"For them to get married?" Harry removed his feet from the table and let Draco have the space to stretch out. "Why?"

Draco sighed somewhat benignly. "He's just not mature enough to make that kind of commitment."

At this loaded comment, Harry rolled his head toward him on the back of the couch and raised his eyebrows.

Draco quickly backpedaled. "What I mean is...I wasn't ready for commitment, and I'm excruciatingly more mature than he is."

The same expression. "Uh huh."

"Really," he said, though not so sure of himself now, and decidedly unprepared for debate. He swallowed a gulp of his coffee. "I know Blaise, and I've been in this same sort of situation before. Twice actually. One was a boyfriend I had a year or so ago-very good looking-had the nicest hair..."

"I don't think you're supposed to be having this conversation with me," Harry said, comically pained.

"Really? Well I went out with him, a guy named Jack Sloper, for a while, and he turned out to be a real jerk."

"Shouldn't we be talking about this while shopping for shoes . . . or in a tea room?"

Draco put his coffee down and leaned back, smirking. "He was nothing on you, though." He could tell Harry was flattered, and slightly hopeful that the subject would not be expanded upon.

"We broke up and then I dated this Asian girl that my mother set me up with . . . " Failure! Relentless bad luck! Harry closed his eyes and groaned.

"...And then there was one girl that was relatively nice. Lots of charisma. But she walked with a limp so I dropped the knife on her."

Harry stirred and blinked. "You broke up with her because she limped?"

"We only dated for a few months, and I couldn't really travel hand-in-hand with her because it threw me off balance when we walked. The problem was, she loved walking hand-in-hand and it's tiring saying no and not telling her the reason why..."

"You didn't want to hurt her feelings," Harry shook his head, astonished. "Why do I feel like I should commit this to memory?"

Draco laid a comforting hand on his arm. "Don't worry, I wouldn't abandon you if you had a limp."

Harry didn't say anything, but a small twitching smile from him made Draco's mood lighten a bit more. He grabbed his mug and got comfortable. "Paralysis may be a deal-breaker, though."

"Jesus Christ," his roommate got up.

"What?"

Draco was-as before proved-very talkative that morning. He'd woken up in an extraordinarily good mood and hadn't wanted to waste it without pestering Harry. The closest being to harp his facetious attitude upon was his grouchy-artist boyfriend, and Draco knew just what to say to push his buttons so early. He got up to open a small slit in the stained glass windows, so that a cool breeze from the river could come in.

He was excited for the art show that night, partially because Harry had said he was in the installation quite a few times, but also because Harry was including him in the proceedings. He had a feeling that being a part of the show meant that he'd hit a certain spot with Harry that brought them to a new level of intimacy. He had a small flashback of concupiscent emerald eyes and skin on skin.

Feeling more comfortable and a little tired, Draco slouched in his seat and leaned his head against the scratchy fabric of the couch. He watched Harry roll up the cords for the camera while yawning widely, and relaxed to examine the tussled jeans and the tiny bit of skin he could see between his shirt and pants.

He decided to busy himself with refilling his coffee mug, and not watching Harry, whom he assumed would not be in the mood for any 'morning sexual advances'.

The weather outside was varying from overcast to sunny and the clouds would sometimes create a shadow that made it rather cold. Remus had said something about air conditioning and a heater being installed before summer, but the lotus-leaf-sitter (direct quote from Blaise) was known to forget about seemingly important things when they didn't have to do with dandelions...or other happy plants.

He considered dragging Harry on a walk to the market, seeing as the day was so nice, but the struggle would be potentially lethal considering Harry's glare that was on full blast.

"We have no quarters for the Laundromat, did you take them?" Translation: did your nut-job best friend pilfer ten dollars in change?

"I can make more. Do we have that much laundry?"

Harry sighed. "We can probably only get two or three loads done before we have to go to the gallery," he titled his head slightly. "You know, you wear a lot of clothes."

He held up a white shirt and a blue jacket for proof of his laundry overuse. "I don't even think this is dirty."

Draco walked over and examined the jacket as well before humming in the back of his throat and pointing down at it. "See? A spot of deodorant on the underarm."

Wisely, Harry said nothing, and put the articles in a pillow case. The keys in his pocket jingled as he slipped on his Converse and yawned delicately. He glanced at Draco only very slightly before shifting into dangerous territory.

"Have you talked to anyone lately?"

"Anyone?" Meaning his parents, but most important, his father. He had told Harry that they weren't talking, but hadn't gone into detail.

"No, not really."

Harry was giving him that look, not quite resigned, but silently asking for more. "I talked with Severus on the phone a couple of days ago."

"Does he know you two aren't talking?"

"Naturally. What doesn't Severus know?"

It hadn't been stated cryptically, and Draco had meant in a general sort of way. Harry, however, did manage to look extremely uncomfortable for a few moments.

"Are you, you know, alright with not talking to him?"

Astonished, but not surprised he'd asked, Draco shook his head. "Of course not, he's my dad." A low, almost disappointed sigh. "But if he doesn't want to talk to me then I won't make him."

"That's a teensy bit juvenile, don't you think?"

"That's exactly what my mother said."

The 'so why don't you take her advice' was unspoken. Draco really didn't want to talk to his father, not because they were at monumental odds with each other, but simply because the intensity of the issue before them scared Draco half to death. He was content, for now, to be ignorant of all except Harry's art show, lunch, and what he planned to wear that night.

"Do I want to know why you aren't talking to him?"

"No, I don't think you do," he'd said it too quickly.

It seemed like no time before they were out the door and stumbling down the stairs with two pillow cases full of laundry. Draco had taken forever in the bathroom, as opposed to Harry who only brushed his teeth twice washed his face and left his hair a mess. Draco had briefly assaulted him at the front door with a long and deep kiss that he claimed he'd been wanting to give Harry all morning but had refrained on account of bad breath. Harry had rolled his eyes.

They made a lot of noise coming down, so it was no wonder that the conversation had halted long before they'd come upon Remus, Mrs. Sprout, and a few chatting customers.

"Hey," said Remus. "You off to the gallery so early?"

Harry held up the bag of laundry. "Laundry, then lunch. Want to meet us somewhere?"

Shaking his head, the botanist smiled congenially at a woman hoping to purchase one of his uglier office plants. "Can't, but I'll be there around nine-thirty."

"Great, he said he'd go, now can we please leave?"

"What's got you so impatient?" Harry turned to Draco irritably. The blond fiddled with his jacket, zipping it and unzipping it.

"Let's just go."

Harry wanted to say something about his mood swings, something having to do with pre-menstrual women, but simply smiled and walked out with Draco following anxiously. When they reached the street, Harry turned to him and frowned.

"What was that?"

They set off in the direction of the Laundromat, which was only a few blocks away, and Draco cast him a relieved but still nervous glance.

"One of my mom's friends. My dad's secretary's mom..."

"...Mom's second cousin's neighbor's Aunt?"

"Shut up."

Harry laughed, and then stopped to pick up a penny on the floor. Draco sneered, eyes on the dirty currency, and they set off once more. The street wasn't that crowded, surprisingly, and Harry and Draco easily wove in and out of the crowd, talking in between groups of the homeless, commuters, and a flock of tourists.

"What time are we meeting Blaise?"

"Three, but more like four because he's always late. He doesn't even get creativity points for his excuses. They're all the same."

"Some guy assaulted me..." it was a bad impression, Harry knew, and grey eyes laughed at him as they stepped into a rectangular shaped, white room with countless washers and dryers set up to the right and the left.

There, they both learned that Draco did not know how to work any type of machinery having to do with manual labor, and had never set one shiny-shoed foot into a Laundromat. In fact, he had trouble putting the quarters in, and Harry merely sat on top of said dryers and watched him in hilarity.

Once it was started, Draco thought it wise to ask, "How long do we have to wait?"

"Until it buzzes at us. Then we put it in here," he patted the one he was sitting on. "Didn't you have a maid named Yolanda that could show you how to wash your own clothes?"

"I had a maid, but I never talked to her. Malfoy's don't do their own laundry."

It sounded so utterly ridiculous that it set Harry off for about five minutes. Draco had wanted to get something to eat at the Bagel place next store, but that had only made Harry laugh even harder.

"You can't just leave your clothes in there. Someone will steal them."

"They're tailored to fit me, honestly, it's not like a bum could find any use for my multicolored polo shirts..."

A rather scraggily looking homeless man walked by them on the other side of the row of washers at that exact moment, and muttered something about the end of the world. They followed him with their eyes, one suspicious and the other laughing, and then turned back to their conversation.

"Draco Malfoy's polo shirts."

Draco leaned against the rumbling and bumbling dryer and smirked. "You know, you'd make a clever stalker."

"Says the guy who's never done his own laundry."

He considered saying something cheesy like 'that's what I have you for', but restrained himself in order to prevent an argument. Harry didn't like when he threw dumb pick-up lines; that was Blaise's area of expertise.

Harry had eventually relented and gone next door to get them something, leaving Draco to hover insecurely over their laundry. He regretted sending Harry away immediately when a middle-aged woman, about 5'4 with a snood firmly attached to the base of her greying hair approached him, determined.

"You're Draco Malfoy, aren't you?"

It was impossible for him not to seem leery of her motives. She could, after all, have any number of weapons in her obtusely large handbag. "Yes," he ventured cautiously.

The intense look died into excitement. "I just think that you're divine!"

What a fucking quack, Draco smiled politely and moved back a few steps.

"I saw in the paper that you'd gotten together with another guy, and I just want you to know that you have my full support as a fellow enforcer of human rights and equality!"

His eyebrows shot up, but he managed to keep a smile on his face which surely made him look partially insane. "Thank you?"

"Oh and that artist you got together with, he's just gorgeous. I think you make a perfect match. Are your signs compatible? They must be..."

Draco caught sight of Harry shifting two coffee cups and a bag of pastries outside of the door. The woman started shuffling in her purse.

"I think I have a newspaper clipping in here that you could sign. You will, won't you? I just have to tell everyone that you look even handsomer in person! Where is that pen? I always put so much stuff in my bag and I can never find anything."

As she was looking down, Draco shook his head frantically at Harry. He made a motion of turning around with his hands, and Harry tilted his head and frowned. Draco pointed to the woman, and Harry looked as well. A moment later, Harry had raised his eyebrows and disappeared. Draco turned his attention back to her, trying hard not to grimace.

"Here we are," she handed the pen and newspaper to him. It was a picture he hadn't seen, of him and Harry standing outside of a club with Blaise. "My name is Dolores, and could you sign it at the bottom? Not over your partner's face. Oh!"

She looked into her bottomless bag once again. "I have some Tarot cards with me, would you like me to chart your new relationship? It might ensure success and lessen the chance of abrupt death or infidelity!"

"Er," an undignified way of expressing confusion. "No thanks, I'm great."

The woman said something about it being better not to interfere with 'true love' and gave a giggle that seemed half an ahem. She eventually left in the flurry with which she'd come in, and Draco couldn't remember if he'd put Raco Alfoy, or Rac Malfy on his autograph.

Flustered, he nearly jumped two feet when the washer buzzed at him.

Harry stood at the door laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes. "Holy...fuck . . . "

"Shut the hell up."

Before their laundry was finished, they managed to get into two easy-going arguments, and the bum from earlier decided to come back and accost them for money. Harry didn't have any more change and Draco had told the guy he'd forgotten his wallet. The man had cupped his hand and waved it in front of them until Harry had placed the penny he'd found on the street earlier that morning into the man's palm.

They laughed for a while about the woman, and Harry brought out a few of his useless comments like, "Did you know that Panama is the only place where you can see the sun rise on the Pacific and set on the Atlantic?"

Draco had glared. "Stop it with the bottle cap facts!"

By the time they had called for a cab using Draco's cell phone, they had their laundry packed up and folded. The gallery was all the way across town, and the cab driver was complaining about the smell of the detergent they'd used on their laundry.

"At least it doesn't smell like the ass-end of a quicky mart, like your fucking back seat!"

Harry had to give the cab driver his money, because Draco refused to hand it to him. Their walk up the steps of the gallery was spent with Harry admonishing Draco for fighting with the cab driver who could barely speak any English, and was perhaps wearing the worst toupe in the history of fake hair replacement.

They were greeted by, low and behold, Oliver Wood, who hugged Harry way too long as Draco had silently steamed.

"Nice to see you again, Malfoy," Wood said civilly. He was wearing a brown coat with jeans and sneakers, and Draco glared at his handsome face. He must have seemed ridiculous with two pillow cases full of folded laundry, trying to look intimidating and territorial.

"You too. It's a pleasure."

Smack! Draco held his shoulder and flinched. "What is your problem? Quit it with the dramatics," Harry said, leading him down the pure white halls.

"Oliver, could you look after our laundry until a friend can take it back to the loft?"

Draco just knew, just knew that leaving his laundry with Wood seemed like a fatal mistake. The man would probably sell Draco's clothes and add Harry's to his 'Harry Shrine'. He was steaming when Wood agreed amiably, and made a comment about them sharing loads (derogatory prick, Draco noted) and furthering their surprisingly wonderful relationship.

He wanted to say something on the lines of, yeah, we are getting further, and yeah, he's with me so back the hell off, but the two old friends had already gone into the back for the equipment. He was being nonsensical, since the last time they'd talked Wood had practically given his consent to the relationship. Draco supposed he was just in an odd mood.

The gallery was exceedingly nice. There were three floors, an upstairs that served as a balcony overlooking the second floor that had five different rooms. A spiral staircase lead downstairs to the older pieces and artist awards. The ceiling was glass, letting sun shine through and warm everything around them. Wood told them enthusiastically that at night the tender had installed twinkle lights that would shine as well as the neon lighting on the walls.

He liked the designer, and Wood, to his displeasure, said that he'd designed some of the show's decorations as well. Harry had an entire room to himself, which in itself was odd, and Wood had already set up the screen that would show the installation.

"There will be a D.J. in the room next to you, and drinks in here and room four, the lighting in here is the best, I think." The ceiling was glass in there as well, but the lighting was from outside and at the bottoms of the walls so they could illuminate the paintings. Two bean bag chairs sat in front of the projector, and Harry ran over and plopped into one.

"Because you designated it?" Draco growled.

Harry looked at him, and Wood grinned wolfishly. "Mm hmm."

The man was clearly mocking him now, and he admitted silently to himself that his own attitude was rather ridiculous. He snorted a bit, and smirked. The tension was gone.

"I want one of these," Harry said, squishing down into the chair happily.

"No," he objected automatically. "Let's get started, already."

Wood helped them put up the canvases, which shouldn't have taken three people but it did. Draco kept his temper copasetic and observed Harry's art work as they put it up. A lot of his works were divided into themes. This batch was based on different types of surreal landscapes, as opposed to the last art show that had a focus of storms and night scenes. Harry had pointed out that one of his 'ironic' landscapes with city lights and flowers didn't have a lightening bolt in it. The first and only one of his paintings without one.

It took only a few hours to get the room set up, and by then it was close to when they would have to meet Blaise for lunch. Harry helped Wood install the lights in room three, before coming back to check the installation projector. He'd told Draco teasingly, "You'll have to wait until tonight to see the installation. It should be hilarious."

What that meant, Draco didn't know, and didn't really want to know. He supposed he would be embarrassed when the time came. They left Wood as he was talking to the gallery director and the D.J. and set out for a French café that Draco claimed his mother adored.

When they got there, it was no surprised that Blaise was no where to be found, so they sat down on a lobby chair and waited to be seated. They didn't wait long, after all, Draco Malfoy was there and he would not be subjected to a waiting list. They decided to sit out on the patio.

The waiter came by and they ordered an aperitif and Draco called Blaise to see where he was. They didn't need to wait that long, because soon enough they heard a honk and the sound of the front end of a car hitting a parking block. Draco rolled his eyes.

"I am on time-a, yes?" Blaise said, in an atrociously bad French accent. The host had followed him all the way to their table, making sure his best friend was under control before sighing in relief and slouching back to the front of the restaurant. Dishes clinked as Blaise sat down, and the sounds from the kitchen were distracting.

"Hey there, Harry, my good man. Can't wait for tonight!"

"You're only going because there's free food," Draco said, stirring his drink lightly.

Harry smiled at Blaise as he sputtered, indignant. "I am not! I'm going to support a brilliant artist and soon to be best friend-in-law with his endeavors."

"Support him in his endeavors, huh?" Draco shook his head.

The waiter came back, grinning politely, and asked Blaise what he would like to drink.

"A demitasse, with a bit of cream and sugar. And a spoon."

Harry closed his eyes and bit back laughter as the waiter gave Blaise a look that said he was clearly not impressed, and more than a little annoyed.

"A cup of coffee, anything else?"

"Cream and sugar...and a spoon." Blaise seemed oblivious, just happy that he had said something French in a French café.

The waiter eyed the knife, fork, and spoon sitting on top of a napkin in front of him. Blaise looked down and shrugged with a grin. Further observation showed cream and sugar already on the table. The waiter walked away.

"You're an idiot."

"I thought it was clever."

"You're going to get 86'd if you keep it up," Harry said to him, putting his chin in his hand. Blaise shrugged, and lit a cigarette. Draco made a show of coughing and blowing the smoke away.

"Hi, I'm Piers and I'm going to be taking over as the new shift. Are you ready to order?"

"Piers?" Blaise said, blowing smoke down the table. "Like taking a long walk off a short pier?"

The new waiter chuckled, though if it wasn't fake then Draco was a virgin. "Oh, well, yes, I don't know..."

"Is it spelled like Pierre? That would be a good name for a guy who works in a French café," Blaise said, showing his savior-faire.

Harry and Draco both said, "Shut up," and Harry threw a napkin at him.

"What can I get for you?"

Draco gave Harry the 'you order first' look, and then smirked at Blaise. "Watch him order. It's hilarious."

The artist ignored him and set stern eyes on the waiter. "I want a soy souffle very lightly baked, no eggs, and if you don't have soy I want a steamed plate of vegetables, but only green beans, carrots, broccoli and asparagus, preferably a bit crunchy but not too crunchy since they are steamed. If you have soy beans, I would like those as well, though if you don't have a soy souffle then I doubt you'll have any beans, so forget about it if you don't. A sweet potato, no sour cream or butter, unless you have soy butter, but we've already been over this."

Harry took a breath. "I'd like some lemon juice, but organic, if you have it, and a side of...lentil soup, and wheat bread. Some courgette, if you don't have the souffle as well as the vegetables. Oh, do you have unsweetened jelly?"

The waiter had been writing frantically and finally looked up, overwhelmed. "I... can check?"

"No, don't worry about it. But if you do, that would be great."

"Anything else?" The man said a bit fearfully. Draco looked at Harry and tried not to grin manically. Harry hummed, and shook his head, folding up the menu.

"No, thank you."

The waiter, looking relieved, turned to Draco expectantly.

"I'll have the pâté de lapin," he said simply and handed over the menu. Blaise sat up when the waiter looked at him.

"I'm going to have to try the...au gratin?"

"That's onion soup, Blaise, you're allergic."

The waiter chose this moment to interrupt deftly. "We do have other non-French meals, of course."

"Oh," Blaise said, looking around at his companions. He handed his menu to the waiter and grinned. "I'll have a cheese pizza."

When he left, Blaise made to swat at Harry. "I can't believe you! Did you do that on purpose?"

Harry looked mildly offended, before his lips twitched in an almost smile. "Yeah."

"He does it every time. I don't know why," Draco shrugged. "Doesn't like waiters, I guess."

"No," he defended himself, moving his cutlery to the side and taking a drink of his water. "I like being specific. I think it's helpful to be specific instead sending it back when it's wrong."

Blaise looked at Draco and nodded to Harry, grinning. "Says the artist. Speaking of which, what is the gallery like?"

"Oh it's great. I've never had a show there before. Three floors."

"It's pretty nice," Draco acquiesced, and then got a malicious glint in his eye. "Wood's there right now getting the rest set up."

As planned, and Draco got a glower from Harry in response, Blaise frowned and looked ready for a fight. "That fucker!"

He said 'fucker' loud enough to attract attention from the surrounding tables. Harry waved a hand at him. "Calm down. He's a nice guy, really."

"My ass," Blaise snapped, and looked genuinely pissed off. "I can't stand that guy."

"Just chill, okay?" Draco placated. "I'm sorry I brought it up." Harry stopped glaring at him.

Blaise lent back and put out his cigarette in an ash tray. "He'll be there tonight?"

Harry shrugged. "It's likely."

"Shit."

Why Draco had brought it up, was obvious to everyone at the table, and Harry wasn't impressed. It wasn't very cunning to manipulate small-minded Blaise into taking his side on the matter, and they all knew that nothing would come out of it except Blaise starting a fight where he shouldn't. Harry remembered the way they had fought last time, briefly smiling at the vision of Blaise's flailing arms and legs. Silly, the entire situation seemed silly.

"Remember, you promised to take our laundry back to our place. You're riding with us over to the gallery, yes?" Draco saw fit to remind him. '

Blaise got his coffee and started to fix it, scowling all the while and refusing to look up. Which meant that he had forgotten... "Yeah, yeah, I know. I have to leave right after that then, drop your shit off, and then pick up Hermione."

"And hopefully take a shower," Harry suggested hopefully.

Blaise looked up from his now caramel colored coffee and mocked him sarcastically. "And hopefully take a shower."

"Speaking of which," a careful diversion by one Mr. Potter. "Draco went to the Laundromat for the first time today."

"Oh yeah?" Blaise looked highly amused. "I remember when Hermione dragged me to one. Those buzzers..." he shook his head.

"It scared me too! It's also the personal headquarters for the homeless!"

"Your mom is headquarters for the homeless."

"Fucking Blaise . . . "

They eventually got their lunch, and Harry's was miraculously perfect. There turned out to be no soy souffle, but the proper steamed vegetables were there, the sweet potato, the wheat bread and the lentil soup. To top it all off, the waiter hadn't forgotten the jelly, which he assumed was unsweetened. There was, however, a new face serving their food.

"I'm Marietta. Piers is on break," their replacement said, and then scurried away.

Draco couldn't help himself, and he started to laugh. "That's two waiters gone, how many more to go?"

"The entire Upper East Side workforce!" Blaise exclaimed happily.

"Well I didn't mean to cause trouble." That statement caused both Draco and Blaise to groan at Harry in amused disbelief and throw various table ware at him.

It was really too bad their first waiter never came back, because Draco tipped heavily on their way out. Marietta looked happy enough, though they all knew Piers would be quite mad at himself when he realized he'd given up a forty-dollar tipper.

"Too bad, so sad." Blaise motioned for them to get in once he'd unlocked his car. Harry, remembering Blaise's driving habits all too well, gave Draco a look.

The ride back to the gallery was relatively uneventful, except for the frequent traffic stops, paying the toll to get on the thruway, and Blaise having a speaker fight with the guys sitting at the stoplight next to him. Harry and Draco tried their best to detain him, but eventually gave up and rolled down the windows to get fresh air away from the smoke.

Draco felt restless, a little mentally tired, and (per usual), anxious in Blaise's car. They had spent a bit over an hour at the restaurant, and the day was coming to a close. He felt content that it wouldn't be over and that it had practically just started. He didn't think that Harry was too nervous about tonight, but then again the artist had a way of seeming completely emotionless. Either that, or he was just confused.

They pulled up to the gallery, and parked rather crookedly in the first available handicapped space. Draco rolled his eyes and they walked up the steps, only to be met by Oliver Wood. Smiling all the while, Wood told Draco there wasn't much to do left, and Harry suggested he go home and get ready. Draco didn't care much for leaving Harry alone with the man, but figured he was grown enough to take care of himself.

After Blaise shoved a warning finger in Wood's face, Draco grabbed their laundry and headed out. The last thing he saw before they pulled away was Wood's hand on Harry's lower back as he steered the brunette back inside. As unfounded as his jealousy was, Draco decided that he would look stunning that night, and he told Blaise so, as they careened down the street-back to the loft.

The thrum of the pulsing music was easily heard over the crowd of cars and conglomerations of unique looking people. Lights adorned the outside of the gallery, sparkling lavender and blue over the glass rooms and windows. A line lead into the lobby, letting one person at a time enter and pay a small gallery fee, before they disappeared into a mass of jostling and laughing bodies. Lighting from the ceiling faded in and out across a neon spectrum, and from outside, it looked as if it were a top notch club rather than an art show.

Draco knew it would be impossible to spot Harry in the growing multitude of visitors, but it didn't prevent him from looking from behind the tinted windows of his limo. Blaise had told him to arrive in style, the common Draco Malfoy way, if only because he wanted to make a flashy scene, but admittedly, he likewise wanted to show Wood who was boss when it came to Harry. Blaise had promised to give the rally cry when he showed up around ten, and in a very uncharacteristic change in mood, Draco was ready to riot with him.

He opened his doors just as the techno blasted out of the gallery, and caught sight of the herd of reporters a moment too late.

"Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Malfoy!" they flocked around him, and he dodged a journalist with humongous feet that threatened to dirty his polished shoes. "What are you doing at tonight's opening? Does it have anything to do with Mr. Potter?"

Feeling dreadfully annoyed, and more than a little surprised at such a stupid question, Draco turned around and addressed the reporter, who was the only one lucky enough to get a word out of him that evening. "No shit."

Gob smacked, the paparazzi stepped back and let him pass, the dramatic clicking of the cameras still going off. When he reached the front doors others parted for him as well, equally cowed but not at all shocked that Draco Malfoy had shown up. If only, Draco thought vindictively, the people he really wanted to intimidate were intimidated...at least anybody but a pack of artsy-fartsy bohemians.

What I do for this guy, he shook his head slightly to himself as he paid the fee and sidestepped the ropes baring the lobby from the separate rooms.

Pushing through the floods of admirers (he assumed that all of them had come out to see Harry's main exhibition) Draco made his way to the room he had helped set up that morning. If getting through the first two areas was hard...Harry's room was probably the worst.

The entire place was bathed in blue light, and the projector was playing a part of the installation project maybe in the middle or at the very end. Draco stopped next to a couple decked out in multiple tattoos and rings in their ears. He barely gave them a disgusted glance before he was instantly drawn toward his own face on the screen.

He was hot among the crowded bodies, but didn't dream of leaving as he saw himself meticulously making coffee and what looked like a bagel. There was no music, it was just him and his morning breakfast, and he truly wondered when Harry had snuck the camera in his face. The scene lasted barely four minutes before a body jumped in front and turned the camera toward the mural, which did not have the black streak across it. Harry smiled into the screen cheekily.

There was music suddenly, blaring and overpowering, and Harry was at the mural painting and the people around him were laughing. He was laughing as well, because right there on Harry's back jean pocket was a hand print with bright blue paint. Harry was dancing while he dabbed details on the wall, and Draco remembered watching him do those same moves randomly around the apartment.

"I wish Harry the best of luck with life," Blaise's head appeared. "I mean, he's a good guy, and one hell of a painter." He shook his head. "But I have no fucking idea what he's thinking with this not-eating-meat thing. The guy's bug fuck if he thinks that's going to go down with the in-crowd. He's gonna get real popular and then wham!"

Blaise slapped his hand into the camera. "Sorry," he brushed it off with his sleeve. "Its social suicide. If going out with Draco isn't already..."

The music changed drastically then, and the slow guitar chords created an extremely melancholy theme. Harry was standing in front of the mural, the paint and details added, and he developed the thinking pose as he examined the wall. The scene flashed and Blaise was added; mocking the same stance right behind him. A close up of Harry, who shyly tossed his hair toward the mural.

"It needs something."

Voices, traveling from outside the loft, alerted the empty room to the arrival of Harry and Draco. They were arguing, and it was an argument Draco had regretted having the other night.

"I don't know how they broke in, all right!"

Draco had a murderous expression on his face. "I have my key, so they must have gotten yours," he insisted.

"That's not true," Harry shook his head. "I'm the paranoid person about keys and things, and I know no one stole it, because it's in my bag."

"Someone must have copied it. Remus always locks the doors."

Evidence of the break-in was still strewn a bit about the floor, and over the mural, which showed the black streak, its first appearance, running through it. "I'm sorry," Harry then said, dejectedly. "I swear they couldn't have copied my key."

Draco sat down on the couch with a huff. "I just don't understand why they would come in here and throw stuff around, but not take anything."

"Maybe they did and we haven't noticed," Harry suggested, though there wasn't much hope in his tone, but it did carry some caution. For good reason, because Draco saw the opening and took it.

"We would notice. Someone would notice if they were hiding something."

Low blow, and the Draco now watching himself realized that fully. Suddenly paranoid that the viewers had noticed his entrance, he moved a little closer to the wall just as the music picked up again, and Harry was painting, but this time on the ladder that Draco swore would be the death of him one day. Blaise, whom the audience had gotten used to very fast, was shouting up at Harry who had his head phones on.

"I don't fucking care about the fucking rent but fucking Hermione wants to know who's going to handle the bills when we get fucking married!"

Harry didn't seem to be listening to him, and Blaise took out a cigarette and lit it. The people around him laughed as Blaise leaned against the mural, putting a hand print in the wet paint. He glared, meaning to have a talk to Blaise about touching what didn't necessarily belong to him.

The rough beat was back again, and the scene went backward to Harry examining the damage done to his mural. There was paint in his messy hair and all over his jeans, and he stood with one foot extended in front of him, a comfortable and flexible pose that Draco hadn't noticed he'd do until just then.

"That's it!" Harry exclaimed, and suddenly ran toward the couch and jumped over it, disappearing. I told him not to climb on the furniture, he scowled.

Everyone got an eyeful of a dancing Blaise, who seemed to think he could pull off freak dancing in the middle of their apartment. Harry was in the background watching him, a paintbrush behind his ear, and Draco wondered where he was before he heard his own voice.

"Get the fuck out of here!"

Dennis had the camera next, and was looking into it with one eyebrow raised. "It is now two weeks into the mural project, and it has been messed up a grand total of..." Dennis looked off to an unknown source for the answer. "Seven times."

"Blaise, don't slosh that water..." Crash!

Dennis grimaced. "Eight."

The music changed into a faster beat but lower volume. Draco chuckled a bit, seeing a conversation he remembered all-too well. He briefly looked around the room, which must have gotten more crowded as he was watching the projector.

"That liar!" Draco in the installation exclaimed. "He said he had packing to do, and fed me to the wolves!"

"You're so dramatic, Draco," Blaise murmured. "Is that blood? Holy shit I'm dying . . . " He pushed his used tissue toward the couple and pointed. "Blood, see? Right there."

"That's disgusting," Draco leaned over, successfully avoiding the tissue, and smacked Blaise on the back of the head. "You're such a baby. I don't know why you came here looking for sympathy. You're a glutton for punishment."

"Honestly, Draco, he's sick," Harry nodded to a moaning Blaise. "And even though I really don't appreciate getting an eyeful of someone's snot rag, I think I can safely say I still sympathize with him. Being sick isn't any fun."

"Oh well, yeah." A scene change. "Someone was installing something."

"No, not the cheese!"

"'...isn't the acacia fascinating...'"

A sleeping Draco.

"Yeah well, at least I'm not disabled."

"We're going to make this the best installment ever!"

The scene dissolved before him, the room still blue, and the mural appeared just as itself, completely finished and absolutely lovely.

Draco hadn't given much thought to the fact Harry had covered the wall with a white sheet all this time, and now that he could finally see the finished product, he truly knew why Harry was so popular. He smiled a tiny true smile and crossed his arms over his chest. The screen went black, and the lights flashed. Those who had watched started to shuffle out or move along the walls to look at Harry's other paintings. The film started over again and Draco turned away, grinning.

He was taken by complete surprise when a hand grabbed his arm and tugged him into the crowd. He could see Harry's bowed head and felt the himself being pulled relentlessly and he followed, amused. They eventually got into the back, where stacks and stacks of boxes, paint, and plastic wrap sat around from earlier that morning.

Draco laughed softly as Harry closed the door, searching for any peeping toms. "I saw the finished product, and I really must say..." but he couldn't really say anything and just continued to smile.

Harry turned to him and looked away shyly, smiling despite his obvious nervousness. "It's packed out there."

Nodding, he waved a hand. "It's all for you. It's a wonder why your ego isn't-"

"As big as yours?" Harry cut him off, moving closer with a sly smirk.

Draco let himself be wrapped into a light embrace, and thought of how devastatingly romantic it would be to engage in certain activities in a storage room. Harry seemed to sense his barbed humor, and he dimpled boisterously.

"Did you like it? Tell the truth."

Instead of answering-because really, Draco was no good with sincere compliments - he put a hand at the base of Harry's neck and brought his lips forward into a kiss. Arms were around him, and he was clutching Harry's elbow to keep them both steady. Harry dipped his tongue further into his mouth, and soft lips glided across his own like velvet. Smiling into the kiss, Draco tilted his head and made it deeper, more passionate, just as his hands started to grasp Harry's waist and bury into his hair.

The door to the storage room swung open, and Oliver Wood stood there for half a second before giving a comical partial scream and closing the door with a slam. Draco, one of his fantasies having just been lived out, laughed uproariously until Harry saw fit to shut him up with a dead arm.

They were soon greeting Remus, still red-lipped from one last kiss, and hearing continuous praise from Harry's many admirers. Harry's face was as red as a tomato by the time Blaise showed up with Hermione on his arm. They were arguing fantastically, and most of the people who had watched the installation already, looked on in curiosity.

Harry's art show would be written up the next day as a total success. Some critics even wished that the mural hadn't of been painted in the loft, not realizing that the apartment itself was a work of art in its own. Draco was proud of Harry, especially when a highly popular gossip reporter named Rita Skeeter commended him on winning the crowd.

Wood, with a huge beaming grin on his face and eyes shifting in between he and Harry, tapped the artist on the arm to distract him from a conversation he was having with a woman from a local paper. Wood motioned for him to follow as well, and they went up to the third floor balcony, where some people observed the proceedings beneath the glass ceiling.

"Well, I've done my job right. Not only are you two making out in the storage room," a blush from them both. "But your paintings are all sold...and someone wants to make the loft a museum."

"What?" Harry shook his head frantically. "That's Remus' apartment really, and he's the landlord. I asked permission to paint it but I can't ask him to . . . "

"Calm down," Wood said firmly. "I told the person no, but he did say the offer still stands. Forever."

"He could at least wait until we move out," Draco said snottily.

"Draco! You can't just go making promises that you're not entitled to make."

He gave Harry a look that said otherwise, and turned back as Wood congratulated him on his success, and then left.

"I can't believe someone bought all of them. Again!" Harry turned to him excitedly.

"Neither can I," he smirked. "How about we go home and celebrate?"

Harry glared at him. "How about you be patient."

The music was still pounding throughout the gallery as the night turned late and people eventually started to drift off. Blaise left with Hermione, still fighting but at the 'not talking' stage, and Remus excused himself, but not before calling Harry and Draco a cab.

He was right to call one early even though Harry and Draco left a lot later than Remus. The cab was caught in traffic and managed to get them out of there a little after one o'clock in the morning. Harry was lightly dozing next to him and he himself was barely able to keep his own eyes open. He'd been aware enough, however, to make sure the cab driver wasn't the one he'd gotten into a fight with earlier.

When they finally pulled up to the loft, they stumbled out and Harry shuffled for the keys tiredly. Remus had turned all of the lights off save the staircase night light, and once again, they made huge amounts of noise walking up the stairs.

They opened the door and stumbled over a few things before finding the light. The overhead fan made a steady humming noise and immediately the room was filled with refreshingly cold air. Harry slipped off his shoes and dropped his back pack. Draco looked at his heavily socked feet and titled his head sleepily.

"You want to use the bathroom first?" Harry asked, yawning.

Draco shook his head and slumped toward the kitchen. "No, you go ahead." They had been full of energy earlier, but the time had eventually caught up with them, and Draco wondered if he'd be able to stay awake to persuade Harry into warming up.

He poured himself a glass of water and drowsily stepped toward the couch when his foot caught on something heavy and flung it sloppily across the floor boards. Frowning, he looked down at Harry's backpack and froze.

Draco hadn't noticed the bag all night, but must have gotten used to Harry taking it everywhere. Suddenly struck in the median between do or don't, Draco stood without breathing and stared. The zipper must have been open, because things from the inside of it were out and all over the floor. He knelt down, placing his glass on the coffee table and cursing silently.

He picked up some papers that had fallen out, a few CD's, and a long, old looking brown book. Draco looked at the door cautiously, hearing the sound of the water pipes still going in the bathroom. It was unthinkable, against his resolution, wrong, wrong, wrong...but nothing was holding him back from looking at the articles in his hand. All of which seemed unimportant and not at all an invasion of privacy.

Glancing inside the now empty bag, he could see an old billfold at the bottom. He took it out curiously and opened it up. There were no credit cards, no ID, nothing but the money in the inner fold. Draco frowned, looking at the one-hundred dollar bills, coming to the conclusion that there must have been at least three thousand dollars in there.

Draco looked at the papers next, and found that they were letters. The first one he opened he blinked at, glancing at the door again, and read the bottom to see who it was from.

Your loving father,

James Potter

His heart beating a mile a minute, he listened for any noise outside and looked at the other letter. Draco frowned, noting that this one was anonymous. He put aside the last one, unconcerned, and thought for a moment.

Was this what Riddle meant? These letters? But Draco didn't have any time to read it, because the water had turned off, and he was starting to panic. He began to put everything back inside, and looked curiously at the last article under speculation. The brown book, which looked like leather, was embossed with a leaf-like symbol. Draco ran his hands across the indent, and bit his lip. A journal?

The book smelled old, and when he opened the cover the paper was yellowing and flimsy. It was a balance book, Draco noted with increasing pessimism, and written in clean precise writing were different transactions and numbers. Huge amounts of numbers. Draco observed the money portions and very nearly whistled. He looked up at the account title, and his mouth dropped open involuntarily.

It belonged to Madison and David.


	26. On Truth

Harry remembered the day that he decided to leave. It was cold outside, and a breeze was moving up from the ocean and down on the school that hung crosses on their doorways. That lit candles with Saints on them, and prayed to the crucified man that hung over the altar. He remembered the mirrors that had watched him walk past church pew after church pew until the cold stung his hands and face and he was gone. Harry never went back.

Looking into his reflection, a brief moment of nostalgia accosted him through his sleepy mind. He turned on the tap and washed the dryness from his hands and recollected a time when everything had been harder, or easier-he didn't know. Seamus' voice suddenly invaded his senses, and he smiled into the glass that showed his fatigued face.

"I'm only in town for a couple of weeks," his friend had maintained. "You're lucky I'm here to bring you back East."

They had driven down a street that had seen better days. With graffiti marking walls and donations of clothes outside of shelters, the sidewalks were littered and full of loitering people. The car Seamus had driven down to Los Angeles was somewhat expensive, and Harry had been reluctant to get inside.

"I took it back in Raleigh, don't freak out."

"If they pull us over . . . I'm jumping out and running."

He'd wrapped his jacket around him because the day was cold, and the coast wasn't far off from the towering buildings and gated schools. Harry had left Berkeley hours ago, taking a bus downtown and without a note or word of goodbye, deciding that he couldn't stay in California any longer.

"New York is great this time of year, not like this . . . " Seamus was smoking a cigarette that Harry was sure didn't have tobacco in it, and he waved a hand in front of his nose and coughed.

"That smells like shit, what is that?"

"Watch the road," which seemed stupid because Seamus was the one driving. His friend reached down to fish out his lighter from his pocket. Harry let out a yelp and held the wheel.

"I don't know how you got here without killing yourself."

Seamus grinned cheekily. "How was Berkeley?"

The wind whipped through his hair as the sun began to set, and he leaned back in his seat and sighed. "A drag. Once I get my ticket I'm out of here, new country, new people . . . "

Surprised, Seamus turned to him and raised both eyebrows. "You're leaving the country?"

Harry looked over at him as well. "Amsterdam. Oliver says that there's people there he wants me to talk to . . . "

"Oh and you just go wherever the fuck Oliver goes!" he snapped, and pulled the car over next to a barred shop, parking half on the sidewalk and half off.

"What are you taking?"

Seamus hadn't answered, Seamus never answered questions like that and most times Harry wondered why he even asked. From their spot as a sitting duck for a mugger, Harry looked at his best friend and tried not to slam his head against the dashboard. He was tired, and wanted to get on a plane and forget that he'd ever been on the West Coast . . . forget the smell of the ocean salt and lovely scented desert flowers. Seamus' surprise visit made him want to run.

"Just drop me off at the airport. I need to pick up my ticket."

"It's already been paid for, huh?" Seamus made a left turn back into traffic and lit another cigarette. "Sorry Harry, sorry, I'm tired. Real tired."

"Why did you even come down here?"

It was a cruel thing to ask, but Harry felt like he needed to admonish Seamus for something. His friend had called him at the hotel he'd been staying at, having pestered the long trail of friends Harry had left behind at the university for information, and had said to be outside of the hotel and ready to be picked up. He hadn't seen Seamus in close to a year, but the moment they were together it felt like no time had passed. Maybe that was what annoyed Harry so much.

Seamus only shrugged.

"Listen, I can't kick it too long, I have to catch my flight tomorrow and I want to get a hotel before then . . . " When in all actuality, he planned to leave that very day.

"Then I'll just help you out, and maybe stay at your place for a while before I go back to New York."

"Seamus," Harry said skeptically, but his friend kept on talking.

"We can get something to eat. I'm starving. You want something to eat?"

"Seamus!" He turned and watched Harry with slightly widened eyes. Harry sighed heavily. "All right. I could eat. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," Seamus said too quickly. "Just tired. I just partied across the country to come get you!"

Harry looked at the road in front of him and bit the side of his lip. "I still can't believe you went alone."

"Yeah well . . . " Seamus flicked his cigarette out of the window.

"Jesus, you're going to get us fined!"

"Relax, calm down," brown hair flew into his friend's eyes as he talked, and outside of the window a bus went by with an advertisement for some sitcom that no one they knew (or wanted to know) watched.

Seamus, completely taking the reassurance out of his pleas for Harry to calm down, merged onto the freeway, but not before hitting the center divider and making sparks on the front of the car. "This car is unbelievable!" he exclaimed.

"How about you watch the road! You're not supposed to go over the divider!" Seamus was usually a good driver . . . just not when he was under the influence of one or various kinds of narcotics.

"So Harry," he tried, attempting to distract him, no doubt. "You been looking out for yourself?"

He hadn't said anything, because thinking about the odd incidents that occurred those past few months were somewhat painful. When Harry would look back on those days, two, or three years later, it would be with embarrassment and shame.

"What did Ernie tell you?"

Seamus glanced at him and blinked. "He told me what happened at that party a month ago."

Tossing his head back in frustration, Harry closed his eyes and groaned. "It wasn't anything. I got out of it fine . . . "

"Well some guy was trying to rape you, and I think that's something. You tell me where he is," he suddenly seemed wacked, and Harry stared at him. "I'll fucking kill him."

"I know you will, Harry shook his head at his friend and turned to watch the cars passing by. "It really was nothing. It's not like I haven't been harassed before. Ernie was just making a big deal about it because he's psycho. I didn't even want you to know."

"We're supposed to be looking out for each other," said Seamus slowly, as he exited the freeway. "You were supposed to stay so I could watch out for you."

"I can't stay in New York for long Seamus, and you know that!" Harry snapped. "I got a guy following me back at University, and I know he was one of Riddle's."

"You don't know that."

Harry sat up in his seat, adjusting the belt that cut into his neck. "It was, because he pummeled me outside of a gas station and said, 'compliments of T.M.R.'."

Characteristically, Seamus started to laugh. "That's fucking cinematic. Compliments of T."

"Could have said Mr. T," Harry grinned. "Then I would have been really scared."

"Fuck," his head thudded against the seat and he stopped at a red light and smiled at Harry. "Why don't we just give him his goddamn money?"

He said as if he was tired, eternally weary of running, worrying, and being followed. But giving up that money was something Harry would never do, and it honestly rankled him every time Seamus suggested it. "The money? That money is my fucking justice, Seam. I'm not abandoning this plan. If you want to, then fine. We're supposed to do this together."

"Okay, okay, calm down." Seamus parked in front of a diner and glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry. I know you hate him . . . I know that it's for a good reason. I just don't want any of his fuckers trying to hurt you any more."

"They broke into your house, set your car on fire, beat us up more times that I can count, and tried to run us off the road!" That one incident had been particularly painful, since James and Lily had died in a car 'accident'.

"Exactly," Seamus muttered, but Harry shook his head.

"They won't stop even if we do give up the money and the books. Riddle's going to kill me."

"Don't talk like that, lightening, you're freaking me out."

Harry leaned over the seatbelt and bit his lip. "I'm not giving up on this."

Seamus knew he wasn't going to, and that was how Harry wanted it. His passion for getting some sort of justice was too much to handle sometimes. Harry seemed like an entirely different person when the name Tom Riddle was brought up. Seamus knew this very well, and knew that provoking his friend on the subject would only get him the cold shoulder. But he cared about Harry, and he didn't want to see his body in a trash can somewhere.

He supposed he just wanted Harry to go back to New York with him, not Amsterdam, or anywhere else. He wanted his friend close because he was getting bad with the needle and Harry would have a solution to his problems with his rent and people he owed money to that were threatening to kill him. Harry was always the sensible one.

"Don't go to Amsterdam," he pleaded. "I'm serious. I want you to come back home."

"I can't," Harry leaned back and rolled down the window. "I haven't got the other book . . . "

"And you're never going to get it," Seamus said, rolling his eyes. "There's no way they'll just let you stroll into that building and raid their safe."

Harry didn't say anything, and he looked out at the street with tall buildings and high palm trees. He needed a change of scenery, and there was no way he was going back to New York. It was one of his most selfish moments, but California had made him contemplative, and he was ready to show everyone his art, his passion, and his truth. Oliver had said there would be a plane ticket waiting for him, and he had jumped on the chance to leave.

"I know all this," Harry said. "It makes me wonder what the hell I'm doing."

Hope flashed in his friends eyes, and Harry smiled somewhat sadly at him. "I'm not going back to New York. Not right now."

They drove until the moon was high in the sky and the marine layer floated out from the ocean. Harry rolled down his window and let the breeze travel through his hands and hair. By morning they were on their way to the airport in stony silence. By afternoon he was on a plane and wondering what Amsterdam could promise him, and trying his best not to feel guilty.

Harry remembered that goodbye to be one of the worst he'd ever had to endure. He remembered the look on his best friend's face as he left through the sliding glass doors and turned around without looking back.

Water, cool and clear, splashed over his face and Harry shook himself out of the memory. Still in the bathroom, he shut off the tap with a silent apology to the fishes and closed his eyes for a moment. He wouldn't have guessed then that he would be this happy because of a whim.

The mirror gave him a view of his own weary eyes, bright from lack of sleep. He smiled a tiny smile, thinking of Seamus and wondering what would have happened if he had gone back with him that day. The smile left his face, because he honestly supposed that if he had stuck with Seamus then, his friend would have been okay.

He left the towel on the sink and walked out of the bathroom, shaking his thoughts out of his head and starting back inside the loft. He pushed open the door, taking a deep, tired breath, and immediately let his eyes fall on the figure kneeling beside the couch. His stomach plummeted, and suddenly he couldn't breathe.

In a flash, Draco's head shot up and he was looking into the wide and partially hysterical eyes of his roommate. Panic seized him . . . should I set the book down and act like it jumped into my hand? Not only would that get him in more trouble, he didn't particularly want to deny that he'd looked . . . however unintentional the act was. In fact, Draco set his determined eyes on his partner, and knew that he would not back down. He was angry, and quite honestly, damned confused.

"You went through my stuff?"

Harry was breathless, almost as if he could barely believe Draco's gall. Which seemed ridiculous, because Draco was never really able to quell curiosity so easily. This circumstance, however, put him slightly in the guilty party, though later he would proceed to maintain that he hadn't meant for the bag to fall.

"It was an accident," he said, barely audible over his breathing, which had become rather loud. "Would you mind explaining what this is?"

Harry's expression flickered, so fast he could barely see the change, and without warning his roommate was striding over to him, clearly irate.

"I can't believe you went through my things!" he snapped, but there was fury in his tone, and did his voice just crack? Draco glared at him.

"I told you it was an accident," he got up from his position on the floor, still holding the book and the backpack dangling from one strap in his hand. Harry snatched the pack away and reached for the book, but Draco dodged his advance.

He was done with patience. "What the hell is this?"

Green eyes hardened and sunk, and that beautiful face twisted into an anger Draco would have never placed on the artist's face. "You went through my things. I fucking can't believe you. And it's none of your goddamn business!"

"I'd say it is," he bit back. "This belongs to my father's company. That's my business . . . literally."

Harry rolled his eyes to both sides and scoffed. "Fuck off."

When he moved back toward the door, showing his back (clearly as a defense mechanism), Draco took the chance and stepped closer challengingly. "You're mad and I'm holding something that legally belongs to my father...that you've kept from me . . . "

"Oh please," turning around once more, "Like you didn't suspect anything in the first place. Like your father and Riddle didn't already tell you what a criminal I am...about how I'll ruin them and take their billions!"

"I haven't heard anything! I don't even know what the fuck is going on!"

Harry slammed his bag down on the couch as he passed it to stand in front of Draco, face-to-face. "That's bullshit. Now give me back that book."

Draco snatched it away just in time. "No, I think you should explain to me why you can't stand my father's company. Why you have his accounting book with his money."

"It was my dad's book, and Riddle's money!"

"Oh," Draco rolled his eyes. "That makes it so much better. What, was your dad a thief?"

He didn't feel the shove until he was scrambling to stay on his feet. Was it true? Did pacifist Harry just shove him? Anger and frustration tingled across his skin, boiling his blood and making his head swim. He wanted an answer and he wanted one now.

"Don't fucking talk about him that way! He's was worth ten times more than your despicable, coward of a father!"

"Coward?" Draco repeated. "You don't know my . . . "

Harry's eyes flashed with unsurpassable fervor. "I know enough! I know Riddle, and Lucius is just a minion of his, a lamb to the slaughter...a black reflection."

"Yeah, right." He clenched his jaw tightly, and suddenly came down from his intense hostility.

He realized, frankly, that he had no idea what Harry was talking about. "I don't understand half of what is going on...I don't know why you have my father's books. I don't know what's happening!"

The confession, however inelegant it was, seemed to have lowered Harry's incredible anger to a sizzle, and he looked at Draco steadily from underneath his tousled black bangs. "I could tell you."

A sigh, and he was sitting down on the edge of the couch, grabbing his backpack and barely raising his eyes to acknowledge Draco's presence. "I should tell you."

He itched to walk over and shake Harry out of his oblivious state. He longed to kiss him until that anger disappeared and they both forgot about ever finding the book. Yet, and yet, he wanted to know what the warning signs had been about, what all of the events over the last few months lead up to...and he wanted to know what Harry meant to Madison and David.

"My father wasn't a thief."

Draco raised his eyes heavenward and nodded stiffly. "We've established that. Now, I want to know." He walked over to the coffee table and dropped the book down. Harry's eyes followed its descent, and Draco stood by him, fixated.

"Tell me what happened," there was sadness in his tone now, and Draco sat on the table and frowned delicately. "Just tell me."

He was whispering now, trying to coax whatever words that were stuck inside of Harry outward, wanting to know and wanting to understand. Draco was therefore shocked, completely and utterly, when Harry raised his eyes and there were tears.

"Promise," Harry breathed out. "Promise you'll listen to me."

"I want to know..." he was tempted to touch him then, try to comfort amongst the confusion he felt inside. His eyes strayed toward the book on the table, and he looked back at Harry almost desperately.

The artist looked away, inhaled, and then began.

"When I was six years old, I met your father for first time at a company party. Then, he was just the assistant to Mr. Riddle. My father, who worked as his private accountant, was just about to open up the department, seeing as he was being promoted. Riddle liked him...liked me and my mother and we went to a lot of his parties with giant chandeliers and evening gowns..." Harry let out a dry chuckle. "I was only six, but I remembered how much money he had."

Harry glanced at his hands. "He made us rich. Everything was given to me but my parents kept their head about it. They weren't greedy, they weren't cheap, and they most certainly never thought the worst of anyone. My dad was good, kind, and very smart." A lost look entered his eyes but was fleeting, and Draco almost missed it. "My mother, beautiful and warm, and after they died I missed her more than anything. More than our house, and my friends.

"I noticed there was something wrong one day when my dad came home nearly crying, and well dad's aren't supposed to cry." Draco nearly agreed. "My mom was scared and she was never scared. That alone told me...something was off." Harry shrugged a shoulder and grinned a bit bitterly. "Weeks passed by, there was uneasiness, I was nine and I really couldn't bother with my dad's work or anything other than being a kid, I guess."

He was candid, and Draco felt a flood of nervousness at knowing so much...at being finally aware. "Halloween came around," Harry spoke quietly now. "I was getting ready to go out and Seamus' mom got a call," he looked away. "She said to me, 'Harry, your parents were in an accident. We have to go to the hospital.'"

Harry's voice had wavered then, and he bit the side of his lip. "They'd died before I even got there. Dead on arrival, apparently. A truck had slammed into them and knocked them clear off a cliff outside of Albany. They were coming home from a business trip."

Draco's chest grew very tight, and he inhaled. Harry turned to watch him. "I was shipped off to Britain," he rolled his eyes. "What a place to go after your parents pretty much disappear." He shook his head. "My relatives...they weren't very nice to me. I won't go into detail, certainly not verbatim on some of the things they said. But they didn't like my parents much, and they didn't like me.

"When I finally went back home, I was sent to a boarding school in Rhode Island. A common one, where I met some of my old friends and lots of new ones. I hated it though, and it would only take one reason for me to leave."

Harry got up from his seat on the edge of the couch and rummaged around in his bag. He straightened, and in his hands were the letters from earlier. "The first letter I received was from Tom Riddle himself."

Surprised, Draco straightened and frowned. "Riddle sent you a letter when...?"

"I was twelve," Harry blinked slowly and opened the first one. "'Dear Mr. Potter, as you know I am and was a close friend of your father's, and send my condolences wholeheartedly, if not a little late. I can imagine you are old enough to realize some of what being an orphan (and heir) to the family finances entails. There are, however, certain factors we must equate into these interesting circumstances'."

Harry folded the letter back up, unfinished, after having read it slowly and somewhat sardonically. "He assumed I had received my father's letter, which came to me along with an anonymous note."

He opened the next one. "'Dear Mr. Potter," he started once more. "'Here is one of the last articles salvaged from your father's desk after his passing. You have no idea how sorry I am for your parent's murder. The letter is addressed to you, and seeing as you are now twelve and growing in intelligence, I believe it prudent to send you his words.'" Harry bit his lip.

"It was unsigned, and he didn't open my dad's letter, but that one, pretty much explains it all."Dear Harry,

First and foremost, your mother and I would like to say that we are immensely proud of you. For your effort in school, for your intelligence, for your talent (in soccer!), and for you simply being you. Harry, there are better things out there than what is in this letter. Don't think badly of anyone despite what I am about to convey to you, my son, and my life.

As you know, I was an accountant for Tom Riddle for the majority of our time together. Business sometimes took me away from you and your mother, and I am sorry for that. I am sorry that I am away now. It is under deep anxiety, and fear for your safety that I write this letter, hopefully to somehow and someway give you the god honest truth.

However they said we or how I died - it's a lie. Whatever autopsy they claimed honest, and whatever cause of death they gave to the family...it isn't true and you must believe that no matter how painful.

Let me start by telling you that the day you turned eight I started to suspect something with Madison and David's finances. There were imbalances, inconsistencies...mistakes I didn't make and neither had your Uncle Peter, my assistant accountant. The list of discrepancies went on and on, and I will admit, I decided to ignore them for the time being. When you turned nine, I investigated the matter, and I regret that...no matter the good it may eventually do.

I opened the safe in Riddle's office that carried his documents, personal and some not, and found almost immediately, a book. One exactly identical to my own in my office that had a different set of numbers and figures. One that showed transfer after transfer of millions of dollars to an account in New England. He was keeping a separate set of records, a fortune worth of stolen money. Naturally, his embezzlement meant that he was stealing from not only the company, but his coworkers as well. It only made us wonder, my dear son, what dirty money paid for your education.

I didn't dare steal the book then, and I asked your mother her opinion. Women, no matter your preference, you will find are incredibly wise. She told me to wait and I did so, but suddenly, there were people watching my every move, and following me closely. Then, we both had an inkling of what was going to happen.

I took the books, both of them, and filtered the money (all of it, every last penny of that stolen cash) to an account in Rhode Island. The account number is 7830284237, and it is under your name. Both books should be inside the safe as well. Take them to the Bureau of Investigation, and the money -or if you choose to do so-keep it, live off what is there and never be without. Never let anyone take your choices from you.

If I'm not there then Riddle knows of my involvement. You must never let on that you have the books or the money. If he comes after you, Harry, he will kill you. Remember, Riddle isn't a bad man, but his avarice has made him stupid. If you need anyone for information, legal representation, anything at all; contact your Uncle Peter who will know the circumstances and help you.

Your loving father,

"...James Potter." Harry looked at him critically. "You look shocked. Can you imagine mine?" he folded up the letter and set it down. "The other two basically said the same thing. The anonymous one warned me, and Riddle threatened to off me like my parents. Quite dramatic, isn't it?"

All Draco could do was nod, and Harry smiled genuinely. "Believe me. I didn't think it was real either. I ignored it and Riddle kept sending me letters, each of them getting more and more tactless. He really thought I was an idiot."

Harry sat down on the edge of the couch once more and raised his chin in silent contemplation. "Finally, he came to visit me, and then I knew it was real. He wanted the letter and the book, and I said I never received them. He knew I was lying.

"So I went to my Uncle Peter's, like my dad said I should do." Harry gave him such a look of saturnine humor that Draco felt a little freaked out. "Peter told me he would take me to the bank where the account was. Just like the letter said, there was money."

"How much?" Draco asked before he could stop himself.

Harry grinned. "Eighty-five million. Give or take."

"Holy fuck," he breathed out. "Shit."

"That's what I said, and believe me, at twelve...I had a colorful vocabulary." They both sniggered, but sobered quickly. "One thing was missing though."

Draco watched as Harry examined his hands, and as his dark hair fell into his impossibly bright eyes that held hordes of emotion and then some. He raised his head to meet Draco's stare, and nodded over to the balance book on the coffee table.

"The other book," he said, with the idea finally clicking in his brain. "Your dad didn't get the other book."

"I don't think he had the time," Harry shrugged and jutted a thumb to the letter. "He seemed in a hurry there, too. He was always in a hurry those few weeks before he kicked it. Uncle Peter seemed upset as well. As you know, he hasn't been working for Madison and David since my parents died."

Draco vaguely remembered the man to be short, pudgy, and very nervous. He told Harry of his recollection and the artist snorted.

"Always nervous..." he gave Draco a look. "You know why he's not working there? He got a pay off from Riddle to keep quiet. He was the one who sold my parents out in the first place."

"He didn't!"

"Yeah, he did. The little rat knew how much Riddle was worth. But he didn't know that Riddle would kill them. We talked about this. I've...lost hate for him. I still dislike him greatly, though."

Shaking his head disbelievingly, Draco motioned for Harry to go on. "After I realized how much money was in there, I left it and carried the book around. By then I had left school and was staying with 'Uncle' Peter," a raised eyebrow. "When he told me what he did, I left. I went to Seamus' and his mom's and I went to the bank and transferred the money to an account in New Jersey." Harry sighed. "From there, it was cat and mouse.

"Riddle's guys started showing up everywhere. Watching Seamus' parents. Watching us, and making random, illegal threats. Seamus' parents went to the police one time, and that was a disaster. We didn't have all the evidence and his mom and dad had a background. Ever since then, the police have never really listened to me. Especially since I screwed up when I was younger and got into some trouble."

"They wouldn't help you at all?"

"They started to, just recently. That investigation into my parent's deaths. You didn't know about it, did you?" 

The investigation that father claimed to be insignificant, he thought, swallowing. "I'd heard about it. My mother told me not to ask." The number of times I ragged on my father about in hopes he would tell me . . .

"Still, Riddle's making his payoffs and chasing me. He never stops," he let out a dry laugh. "He's always got someone on my back . . . "

"Speaking of which," and Draco shook at making this admission, and he whispered, "He told me to look in your backpack."

"What?"

"He told me...to look in your backpack."

Harry's beryl eyes flashed, and Draco felt like scooting backward. The twitch in his jaw was proof enough that he was more than slightly angry. "So, it really wasn't an accident."

"No!" he objected quickly. "Really, it wasn't on purpose. I never had any intention of looking through your things. You said you would tell me and I believed you."

He didn't know whether Harry accepted that or not, seeing as his posture was still stiff with distrust. Draco really hadn't meant for it to happen and for the first time he realized that this was the one instance (bar when he'd broken off the wedding with Pansy) that he was telling the truth. The complete truth, and if Harry couldn't see that . . .

"All right," obviously he could. "But there is still the issue of your father."

Draco bristled at that. "What do you mean?"

"At the time of the incident, Riddle was handing the company over to him. I don't know if he was in on it, but he certainly never helped me when I went to the police . . . "

"Are you accusing my father of murder?"

"No!" and Harry said this sharply and worriedly. "I just don't know, Draco."

He was eternally dumbfounded. He didn't want to think that his father would possibly orchestrate the murders of anyone, but all fingers pointed to the two early partners of Madison and David. It seemed like his own heart was at a standstill, that everything in his mind and body threatened to shut down. They both had been right, Lucius and Riddle...this would ruin them. This would send his father to prison for years and leave his mother in disarray. How many people, exactly, had been in on it? Had Draco been the only oblivious one?

"How do you know that Riddle didn't just destroy the books?" He didn't know where the question derived from, but it was blurted out before he could properly think about it.

Harry sighed. "A few days before I left New York for good, I got another letter. Don't ask me how they found my address. I've wondered millions of times why Riddle didn't just go in there shooting. I know," he said when Draco gave him a look. "It seems extremely unlikely but this guy...Riddle," Harry shook his head. "He really is going to kill me."

There followed a laugh that could only be described as bitter, and Harry grabbed his backpack and looked in the front pocket, somewhere Draco hadn't gone through. He pulled out a letter, written in handwriting, he noticed, and read what seemed like the last few lines.

"'I advise you to consider Riddle's offer of peace, and know that the time will come when he must face his crimes. You are possibly too young to realize that you can be of no help, the authorities will have better ability at finding the books than you I'm afraid. Your parents were good people, decidedly reckless of James though for handing you the stolen money...but perhaps the will of a parent is only to ensure a child's safety, regardless of the consequences.'"

He stopped. "Someone hid that book away, and I'm going to find it. It went on to say that it was kept for documentation of the split in the partnership."

Draco asked for the letter and observed it carefully. "This is different from the anonymous one," he said.

"The first anonymous one was from Peter." Harry used that sarcastic tone again. "He told me he was afraid someone would know he'd written it, and that he was trying to make amends by giving me my father's letter. I think he did. Though it's more trouble than it's worth."

"Eighty-five million..." he let his voice fizzle out, and Harry smirked.

"Yeah. Not the best choice of words." Harry looked away. "That second one, I don't know who wrote it...but they have the books."

Draco looked down at the writing again, squinting at the very elegant calligraphy. His heart jammed against his chest uncomfortably, and he glanced back up at Harry without expression. "So your parents were murdered by Riddle for money, your dad's friend Peter sold them out, my father could be in on it," is in on it, "and you now have enough money to take care of you for the rest of your life...and any future generations of Potters'."

You still dress like a hobo, and Draco the fashion critic couldn't help but point out in his head. He smiled a little and raised his eyes to the ceiling.

Harry smiled too. "I have to keep that money intact. Every single penny has to go back to the government when I prosecute Riddle. That's why I kept leaving to check up on Seamus. He's taking care of the money for me...but he does keep spending it, so I had to get a job as a back up." He waved a hand around. "So here I am."

"Why did you leave him in the first place?"

"Well," and there was a sigh. "Seamus' family wasn't doing too well. I know it was this issue that broke them up, and the drugs. But . . . I left mostly because there were a lot of memories there, and I'm not really the sort of person to stay in one place . . . "

"...for too long. Yeah, you told me." Draco looked back down at the letter and folded it up slowly. He passed it to Harry and closed his eyes.

Everything, so unpredictably unbelievable, had been introduced to him like a horrible joke with no punch-line. What was he supposed to say to this information? Was he supposed to denounce his father and go after Riddle with Harry? Perhaps a romance like that would sell better in a bookstore.

A quick glance outside showed that it was raining, and he watched the water droplets slide down the window pane. "I have to think about this," he said, slowly. "This is a lot to take in."

Harry developed a look in his eyes that screamed panic, and Draco was slightly taken aback, but not enough to stop himself from standing up. He needed to think so desperately he imagined that not Harry, not Blaise, not even the rain would prevent him from escaping the loft.

"Don't go," Harry grabbed his arm. "It's raining."

He shook away Harry's loose grasp."Give me some space, okay? This is . . . heavy."

He didn't know what to do. Draco looked around at the studio, the couch that was covered in their laundry where Blaise had thrown it without care, the tarp and paints and canvases, tracks of both of them from the soil in Remus' shop and other endearments that made the apartment their own. He looked away, anything but at Harry who sat in unsure dejection, with his wide beryl eyes pleading for Draco to stay.

As much as he wanted answers, he hadn't expected the one he'd been given, and the only solution he supposed would be to talk to his father. He would have to understand who to believe . . . who to trust.

Without a glance backward, just as Harry did to so many before, Draco left the loft and his confidence behind.

"I don't know why you went to University if you didn't like it," Seamus was saying to him as they drove down the coast. "Your friends seemed pretty nice."

Harry leaned his head against the window and sighed, watching the clouds roll across the sky from the ocean that spread out like a great gray blanket. "They were. I do like it here."

"The weather's nice, if anything," he turned to the artist. "Won't be too fine in Amsterdam, I bet."

Harry laughed. "You're priceless. I thought we were going north, the airport is that way," he pointed to what he hoped was toward Los Angeles.

"I haven't seen all of the state yet, I figured you could show me around," his friend said with a shrug. Seamus exhaled out a cloud of smoke and the wind blew his ashes away.

"No time," was Harry's rather morose response.

"Maybe we'll come back," he said without real conviction, the breeze from the open window blowing his hair about. The clouds uncovered the sun, and Harry looked away.

"Maybe."


	27. Running Backward

The rain outside showed no signs of stopping. The patter of water on his windshield was soothing, like soft footsteps across the metal of his car. Parked where he could see the river quite clearly despite the dew, Draco sat with his hands still on the wheel and his hair askew. The downpour had lasted over an hour as he drove, and now slowed to a steady trickle of droplets from the sky. Dawn was just peaking over the city, but the sun was nowhere in sight.

Driving, for Draco, had always been a good way to relax. It seemed, however, that he could not get certain voices or memories out of his head, and he hadn't tried particularly hard to stop them. He was frustrated and very lost, and his tightened fingers on the smooth leather of the wheel felt as if they could grip iron and crush it. Adrenaline had shot him out into the rain and to his car, where he sped down the street without any thought except getting away.

This and that, words and accusations, all running around his mind and giving him a headache like no other. His inner turmoil raged and yet still he sat, silent and immobile, gazing out at the Brooklyn and wondering what the hell had just happened.

From what he could understand, Harry was in a load of trouble and Draco didn't know how to help him. His recollection of Riddle -as a child- was vague, and he could barely remember that slow smirk on his handsome face. His father, when Draco really thought about it, had always been rather anxious around Riddle. They had been together often, especially when they had decided to split the partnership. Draco had remembered because his mother had told him that they would never have to worry about their money. Not that they had to do so before, anyway.

Riddle had been background noise, some adult that wasn't worth a nine-year old's time. He couldn't say that he had ever seen Lily and James, but he might have very well met them but had not paid any sort of attention. He sure wished he had now, because the faces he was picturing being run off the road looked like Harry's...and that entire image was disturbing on more than one level.

Draco could barely grasp the embezzlement concept, let alone James Potter stealing the already stolen money. To maintain eighty-five million dollars for that long? Draco would think it impossible if he had never met Harry Potter. A person, he knew, that could be driven to do something so forcefully, it encompassed his entire being. Draco had watched him paint enough to know that there was more than a little intensity behind those bright green eyes.

Why on earth did it have to be so complicated? Draco let that thought stand out among the others, and it pulsed at his temples angrily. He'd just broken off an engagement, decided on a life other than Madison and David, developed a romance with someone completely his opposite, and suddenly, the two semi-peaceful worlds had collided.

He understood that Harry felt it was an...obligation of his to have justice for his parent's murder, and hell, Draco figured he would have done the same. He had sympathy for Harry, the artist running away from the big mean business man, and he was willing to help . . . if only there wasn't anything to lose. If only Draco hadn't recognized that careful penmanship as his father's.

The letter had been a warning, however, not a threat like Riddle's tactless words had been. Harry had said that the one who'd told him to leave it to the authorities had the books...and that was where Draco planned to go. He planned to get his answers regardless if Lucius didn't want to be subjected to his interrogation.

Two books...Draco tore his eyes away from the river and down to his lap. If his father had been in on it they would have had more than they had ever wanted. No wonder the company was faltering without that fortune to sustain its investments. He wanted to blame Harry, suddenly, but he hadn't done anything except run away from a situation he never should have been involved in, really. No, the blame was in the two main suspects in Draco's suspicious mind.

He buried his head in his hands, feeling his half-dry hair fold beneath his fingers and the cold of his car start to get to his feet. Draco turned his key and switched on the vent, watching the fog disappear slowly across the glass.

When he really and truly thought about it, the entire issue made sense. He asked himself if he had really expected Madison and David to be uncorrupt, with all that money floating around to imagine it untouched and perfectly honest was ludicrous. The transactions in that book had looked fine, and Draco dreaded to see the two in comparison. Numbers adding up to amounts and more and more evidence adding to the charges against his father. Whom he loved, despite his obstinacy and reticence.

To say that he was torn, as if someone had unraveled the threads that held him together, would be an understatement, and Draco would not lie to himself and maintain that he didn't want to run as far from the situation as possible. Perhaps that was what Harry felt, when he left place after place after seeing someone shadow him in what he thought was a perfectly stable environment. It was helplessness, pure and simple, and god did Draco despise it.

Abruptly, he was turning on the ignition and sitting up in his seat. He backed out of the gravel, listening to the crunch of rocks beneath his tires, and shot off across the river. His driving, though a bit wobbly, was beyond the speed limit, and he fancied no one would stop him because Draco Malfoy was going through a crisis, and that was that.

It was early morning, but he knew at least Millie would be in the office doing paper work. Lucius had always left extremely early when Draco was a child. So early in fact, that he used to crack an eyelid open and look out of the window where the sky was still only a dark blue, and listen to his father as he warmed up his car. Lucius would therefore be there, and it motivated Draco to rocket down the thruway which was blessedly moving quickly despite the morning rush hour.

He made good time in getting to the building, dim and slicked with the rain that now fell in a small mist. Parking haphazardly in Blaise's spot, he went through the parking garage entrance but found it locked. Draco pounded up the steps to the front, throwing the door open to the atrium and striding over to the elevators. There was only a clerk and a few cleaning personnel on the floor, and they stared as he stormed up to the lift and pushed the bottom multiple times.

Insecurity set in as he traveled up, and soon he was weaving in and out of the cubicles to his father's private office. Millie wasn't there, but a fresh cup of coffee was beside the mountain of paperwork on her desk. His father, he could see from where he stood, was working silently in his seat without a care in the world, and that pissed Draco off.

It was then that Lucius Malfoy was greeted with a damp and fuming son, who wore jeans and a blazer with its sleeves inched down his arms and covered most of his hands. Whose hair stuck up in odd places when it was usually quite proper, and whose eyes told him he was more desperate than mad.

"Did you know what was going to happen?" Perhaps not the best way to begin a civil conversation, but Draco figured he couldn't help himself. It came out breathless and infuriated, and that tone probably wasn't a good idea either.

"Draco," Lucius said in mild surprise, "What on earth?"

"Did you know?" He nearly screamed, and Lucius raised an eyebrow at him. He sat stiff and cold as Draco breathed in and out, and the sound echoed throughout the room.

His father took a moment to observe him, before he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach. "I'd like you to think carefully before you..."

"I am thinking carefully! Did you know what was going to happen?"

Lucius' eyes flashed and he lifted his chin to look down his nose at his son. "And what, pray tell, are we talking about?" The other eyebrow rose.

Draco was suddenly flabbergasted, and he opened and closed his mouth for a moment before frowning. "The Potters'. I want to know what your motives were nine years ago."

Lucius leaned forward and sighed delicately. "I wondered how long it would take for you to come to me, Draco. I had anticipated sooner."

"What the hell does that mean? If you wanted me to know you would have told me when I first met him." No explaining who he was speaking of, and Draco shook his head in frustration.

"I did not want you to know, at all."

"But you figured I'd just stay away from Harry because you said so?"

His father glared at him. "Apparently I put too much stock in your obedience."

"You have a lot of nerve to criticize me when you're the one at fault. When you're the one involved in something that could ruin us!"

His hands were clenched into fists as he seethed, aware that he was overstepping boundaries that he had never dared to before, but had always tested.

"You will not speak to me in that tone of voice."

Draco scoffed. "As if that works now that I'm twenty and actually thinking for myself..."

"What, has the artist taught you recklessness as well as disrespect?"

"You have no right," Draco was barely able to say over his anger, "To talk about him that way."

With a slowness that betrayed his strained nerves, Lucius stood and straightened his suit as he walked over to the large windows overlooking the city. "Perhaps you should learn some of what has been happening for the past nine years then, Draco. That is what you came for, isn't it?" He said quietly.

Draco was put off by the resignation in his voice, and immediately chilled though remained intensely focused. Lucius did not look at him, but it was obvious that his son wanted to hear him out, at least. They reached a mutual understanding of what would be said.

"I can imagine your roommate had much to say on this issue. I'm assuming you saw the book."

"I did. He told me about Riddle, about the murders...it was murder then..." he had never speculated that Harry had lied, but wanted to hear it from his father himself.

"Of course," was his chilling reply, and Draco nearly took a step back. "You do not know Riddle as I do. He paid a wholesome amount of money for their death's to remain silent. Recently, however, your artist has been able to convince the Bureau of Investigation that there is something to investigate."

Draco pulled his jacket up and crossed his arms. "Were you in on it?" He asked ruthlessly.

Lucius turned around and looked at him. "Sit down, Draco."

"I don't..."

"Sit down." It broached no argument, and Draco sat.

His father looked as if he wanted to pace, or do something with his hands, but he refrained in that infinitely perfect Malfoy way and settled for staring at his son soundlessly. Of a sudden, the weather outside picked up, and Draco was aware of the sounds of traffic and rainfall.

"Nine years ago, Riddle had Lily and James killed after inviting them to Albany for advice on a business call. They knew the risks when they left, and without a doubt, Draco, knew that it would be the last time they ever saw their son. So they filtered the embezzled money to an account for him and wrote him a letter explaining everything. They gave it to their swine of a lawyer," Lucius gave him a nod, "our previous employee, and died without knowing if Riddle had gone after their son as well."

"He didn't..."

"No," and his father looked at him severely. "He didn't. He had his tracks covered well until the money went missing. Pettigrew fled like the coward he was, and it stayed silent everywhere but inside this office."

"How many people knew? How long have they known?" Draco asked tensely.

"It is not an immense number," he responded vaguely. "Riddle, myself, Severus, Pettigrew..."

"Severus!" Draco said, shocked. "Why did he know?"

"Because he was the one who overheard the order for Lily and James to be..." Lucius cleared his throat. "Taken care of."

"He didn't tell me either..."

"You were not to be told," his father said forcefully. "Severus and I maintain our silence, and I will get to that Draco, do not interrupt me."

"But were you in on it? I need to know, before anything else!" He asked, anyway.

Lucius stood calmly and lowered his eyes. "No. I was not."

A sigh of relief went off in Draco's head, despite how much he wanted to get up and tackle his father into a one-sided hug. His own happiness must have shown on his face, and Lucius decided to squash that hope into a million pieces.

"It is my silence on the matter, Draco, that you should be worried about."

At his look of confusion, and no little anxiety, Lucius expanded. "I have kept it from the police in caution of Riddle's influence. Severus, upon my order, agreed not to speak of it until the time was right."

"The time was..." Draco frowned. "You did write that letter, then."

Lucius looked surprised. "So, he kept it. Not the most brilliant of things to do...but yes. I wrote to tell Mr. Potter that it would be in his best interest to stay out of this matter. I did not..."

"How can you say that when it was his parents that were killed?"

His father held up a hand to silence him, the fury in his eyes being the only thing to give away any emotion. "I did not expect him to listen to me. His insistence, however, is astounding. I am left helpless because he has the other book."

"Did it ever cross your mind to give it to him?" Draco said angrily. "Or is it the money that you are interested in...?"

"His lies have become your basis for argument! You will listen to the truth or you will listen to nothing at all!" Composure was lost to him in that second, and Draco speculated that he had never seen his father look so intimidating.

"What Mr. Potter fails to realize," started Lucius smoothly, "Is that while he has the correct accounting book, Riddle was still able to show the lawyers the incorrect one. He fails to understand that we were both cheated."

"But all the money . . . "

"Our fortune," he looked down at the flawless carpet in his office. "Has been maintained by Riddle ever since. One wrong move, Draco, just one...and he could take everything away."

So his father hadn't done anything wrong but choose to keep silent on the pretense of protecting his family. Draco believed that he could accept that. He started down at the arms of his chair and frowned, thinking that he should have known his father wasn't a greedy conspiring murder. He should have known that it was Riddle doing the manipulating...Riddle ruining people's lives, and Riddle breaking everything a part piece by piece.

"But this means..." he thought quickly. "This means you're both on the same side! Why not go to the authorities and put Riddle away..." So I can go back to my life and live it.

"On the same side?" Tension, anger, and extreme hatred was emitting from Lucius' tone now. "Trust me, Draco, that boy and I have completely different priorities."

"You're so goddamn stubborn!" Draco got to his feet.

"And you are in the dark. You know absolutely nothing and have not experienced..."

"I know nothing?" Draco yelled and pointed to himself sardonically. "Why is that, father? Maybe if you had decided to be honest with me, in the first place."

Lucius was quiet now, and the silence except for the rain pouring down the crystal clear windows was deadly. "You ask me about honesty. I can give you no reason for not telling you...only that I wanted you safe."

"But people know...more and more people are catching on by now. This isn't underground anymore," he was pleading. "This is the perfect time to get Harry to help . . . "

"I will not ask anything of that..." the words escaped him, and Draco was suddenly angry again.

"What? You hate him because I chose him over Pansy fucking Parkinson? You hate him because I can think for myself now?"

"You obviously aren't thinking," he snapped.

Draco sneered. "And you have my best interests at heart, I can see that clearly, father."

"I have only ever done what's best for my family!" His anger was back now, full throttle. "Perhaps you should use that newfound intelligence of yours and watch yourself!"

Lucius' next words resounded through him deeply, and broke a part the last bit of his reality.

"Or better yet, let me ask you this, did you think it was a coincidence that he showed up at the same shop you were going to live above? Do you think fate drew you together, Draco?"

His father stared at him without looking away, matching gray eyes delivering a turbulent blow to the heart.

"That boy's vengeance has blinded him. He will take advantage of anything to get Riddle into prison, and he will use anyone..."

"No, that's not right," Draco whispered.

"It is. I wanted you to stay away from him," Lucius was in emotional anguish for his son. "I wanted to beg you not to love him, but his resilience is impossible to compete with. From the start..." his voice was pained. "It's been about this. Only this."

Draco did not know whether the fast pounding in his chest was normal, or the sinking pain that made him feel as if someone were carving out bits of his soul was either. He didn't know if his breathing should have hitched or if his throat was supposed to go tight. All thought left him and he looked at his father unsteadily.

"I never wanted you to know," said Lucius, a father's worry etched into his body regardless of his usual masks.

The words jumbled around in his head, and with the sound of his name being called, Draco turned around and walked out of the office, into the elevator, out of the elevator, across the atrium and out of the building, and felt the rain seep through his clothes.

Blaise and Hermione's apartment was in the Upper East Side district. A quaint place that had previously belonged to just Hermione before her boyfriend decided to invade her space. It was rather like a townhouse representing New York's wealthiest, and for their specific needs it was more than enough space. They lived together, somewhat reluctantly, and their valor was constantly acclaimed. After all, two opposite people in one place was never a good situation.

Whether they were comfortable with each other, with their home, or even awake at the moment was something Draco really didn't care about. In fact, he cared so little about their state of undress at six o'clock in the morning that he was soon pounding on their apartment door loud enough to wake the dead. Hermione was lucky enough to answer the door, an annoyed frown on her face until it turned into surprise at the sight of him.

"Draco!" she exclaimed. "It's early . . . "

Her hair was still wet from her shower, and her make-up was only half-done. She stood wearing a skirt and her bra, and if Draco hadn't of been so preoccupied he would have been embarrassed. She maintained her practicality and noticed his look of distress before she moved out of the way of the open door.

"Come in, sorry about the mess."

Draco couldn't find anything wrong with the apartment at all. The interior was in earth tones, as well as the hardwood floors and walls. He walked into the living space where the couches matched the paint infallibly and looked across the room at the small kitchen adorned in the same sort of rusty hues. Why exactly he was contemplating their choice of colors he had no idea, and he shook the thoughts away and stared at her forcefully once more.

"Blaise is asleep," she said as she picked up a half-empty cup of coffee from the counter.

"I'll wake him up . . . " he shot off toward their bedroom, leaving Hermione leaning against a bar chair in a state of disbelief. He slammed open the door with the intention of waking Blaise up thoroughly, and it proved rather successful. His friend shot up from where he was sprawled across the bed, wearing a shirt and boxers. Blaise looked at him bleary-eyed, and Draco walked over and shook him roughly.

"Get up!" he shouted.

Blaise groaned and flopped back down, letting Draco shake him from side to side until he finally sat up completely and glared. "I'm up! What the fuck?!"

"Get up."

"Draco..." Hermione came over to him and tugged on his arm. "How about I get you a cup of coffee?"

Draco let himself be dragged away by Hermione, who was giving him a concerned look and slowly ambling with him toward the kitchen. He glanced back and nearly growled when he saw that Blaise had snorted and gone back to sleep.

"Is it still raining?" she asked, depositing him on a stool and getting out a mug. Draco nodded, a bit distractedly, and she set the cup down and filled it.

"So?"

He looked at her, where she stood expectantly, with a shirt on this time, and waited for him to talk. Draco frowned, before running a hand through his hair and then looking at it in disgust. He got up and started to fix his appearance in the mirror beside their front door.

"I just talked to my father," he said cryptically, before leaving his hair alone. He turned back to the counter and blinked. "When do you think Blaise will wake up?"

She smiled. "You're asking me? He'll wake up when he wakes up. You should know, you're his best friend."

"Yes, and I'm always beside him when he opens his pretty eyes in the morning," he played dumb and scowled.

"Don't you two have slumber parties?"

He glared at her sweet smile and sat down in front of his coffee. "Is this hot?"

"Yes," Hermione frowned. "Now, what was with that dramatic entrance?"

He cupped his hands around the mug and nearly flinched at how hot it was. "I always walk into people's apartments that way. And if they don't wake up I usually steal all their crap!"

Draco said it loud enough to carry to the next room, where he heard Blaise groan followed by a thunk. Hermione tapped his hand.

"Now what's this all about?"

Explaining a dilemma that pretty much made him look like a dumb ass wasn't something Draco was looking forward to, but surprisingly, he decided to blurt out the entire story to his best friend's girlfriend, whom he was hardly a close affiliate with, and who had the tendency to judge. She sat and listened in honest surprise, one eyebrow raised and her mouth open. The hand clutching her coffee had been half way to her mouth when Draco went on to tell her about the conversation he'd had with his father, and then stopped completely and she gasped.

"Oh . . . " she managed to say. Draco shook his head and looked down at his hands.

"Ask me if I know what to do."

Hermione glanced heavenward and scooted forward on her stool. "I know what you should do," she tilted her head back and observed him. "Go back and talk to him before he leaves again."

"Go back . . . " he suddenly jumped up. "Jesus, he'll leave!"

"Yes," she nodded as if he were an idiot. "He will."

"Fuck!"

Blaise yelled 'yeah!' from inside the bedroom and Draco made for the door.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Hermione ran in front of him. "Just calm down. It's still early morning, and he's probably still there. He wants you to come back..."

"He wants me?" Draco growled and shook the hair out of his eyes. "I think we've established that the only thing he's ever wanted is retribution for something I didn't do!"

She raised both hands in defense. "Tell him that, not me. But you can't disregard that he has feelings for you..."

Draco adjusted his jacket furiously and sneered. "Oh, what a load of..."

"Give him a chance to explain," her civility on the matter only made Draco angrier, and he told her so.

"Don't just go attacking him," she warned, "he won't take well to that. No one takes well to that."

He glanced away from her and bit his lip, tired and hungry and just wanting to curl in a corner and miraculously die. Draco had rushed over to their apartment not knowing what he was doing or where he actually was. He'd driven and driven until he let his memory take over, and in his confusion he felt as if everything solid was melting into pandemonium. His thoughts jerked him back and forth, and it felt like he was on a ride that he couldn't get off of.

Only then did he notice that his clothes were soaking and Hermione was giving him a blanket to put around his shoulders. He was cold, and he pulled down his sleeves and shivered. Did he want to go back? What he would inevitably face would be either truth or lies, and he couldn't tell which one he wanted to hear at the moment. Had his father simply accused Harry out of sheer spite, or had it really not been a coincidence that they'd ended up living together?

All fingers were pointing to Harry, and Draco was frantically pushing them away saying that it was wrong. He tried to tell himself that Harry's nature wouldn't let him purposely use someone, but the intensity with which he'd talked about Riddle made Draco really think that in that particular case...anything was possible. Even his heart was fair game.

"You're welcome here any time, Draco," Hermione said, but her tone absolutely forbade him from running underneath the bed and hiding. He did as he was told, and left the apartment feeling more than a little down.

The drive back seemed endless. Everything was coated with fresh rain, and it made the roads almost impossible to operate on. Draco subconsciously drove slower, and his mind was practically brain dead after thinking and analyzing the words from the morning. He knew, without a doubt, that he did not want to hear what his roommate had to say. The only feeling inside of him was a gut wrenching ache that made it hard to breathe, and his entire countenance represented his discomfort. But the silence held until he was outside of the loft and parking.

He sat for a moment, without moving, gazing off and breathing puffs of air that got stuck in his lungs. His chest seized, and still he sat. The Fleur-de-lis was barely open, and he could see a few customers meandering about in the window. He couldn't see Remus, and he thought that maybe he should go in and out of the cold, but his body seemed like it was frozen in its seat. His eyes moved to find Harry and...there he was.

Draco watched him. He was putting together a dozen roses, smiling politely at a client while they waited. Remus was talking to him, and ever so often Mrs. Sprout would pop her head out of the back and say something that made them all wave a hand at her teasingly. Harry finished and jumped on top of the counter, where he swung his legs back and forth.

His jet black hair fell into his eyes, and he brushed it away and gazed off, a certain discontent in his stature that Draco didn't notice. In fact, all the blond could see was red, and as Harry laughed at something Remus said, he pulled out of his parking space, shifted gears, and sped off down the street.

Harry was having an extraordinarily bad day. Not only had he stayed up all night practically tearing his hair out in distress, but there was still no sign of Draco even well into the afternoon. All thoughts of his show (which had been a rather brilliant success) were tossed out the window in favor of wondering where on earth his roommate had run off to. Or better yet, whom had he run off to confront?

He'd worked the hours away, trying to act as if nothing bothered him and he was the same old Harry as usual. The act was one he did every day, he realized, and it was a sobering thought. Remus had, however, picked up on his surly mood more than once, and had asked him if anything was troubling him. Harry thought 'troubling' was an understatement, but remained silent.

Honestly, running away had circulated throughout his head for the past six hours, and by the time night reached them, he was seriously looking at his meager possessions and envisioning them zipped up and on their way to Tibet...or anywhere that wasn't there.

But he hadn't left, a surprising bit of information even to himself, and instead he'd brooded until the headache he had turned into a migraine, and the moment he'd gotten off of work he was on the couch of their apartment and closing his eyes in pain. Mrs. Sprout had tried to give him some kind of pain killer, but an adamant refusal filled with philosophical beliefs of the validity of medication had gotten her off of his back.

Still, his own anxiety had left him craving opera and biting a hole into his lip, and the more time that went by without Draco there to provoke pulled his nerves tighter and tighter. Maybe it was the sting of being rejected over telling the truth, for that was what Harry had done. Leaving out more personal and unimportant facts was expected, but he had confessed earnestly for the first time in his life, and rather than being at peace, he felt sad. He wished he had never said anything.

There was an asset somewhere in telling him, Harry knew, and that was the part of him that he hated. Regardless of how much he had hurt Draco by not being truthful in the first place, there was still a chance that the blond would help him to take Riddle and his big bad company down. It seemed like a leap of faith, because Draco would undoubtedly lose his family name in the process.

He cared, he actually did, but to Harry vengeance outweighed reason at times, and that characteristic was another on the long list of denials he chose not to face. Sooner or later-the good side of his self said-he would have to face the music.

Harry was accosted with the issue a bit sooner than he would have liked, when the door opened slowly and he was blinking at an out-of-sorts Draco Malfoy.

He'd been laying on his side, trying to calm his pulsing temples with his arms crossed over his chest, and his roommate just seemed to appear from out of nowhere. Harry had squinted for a moment, before he'd sat up completely and frowned.

"Hey," hardly an appropriate greeting considering the tension. "Are you...um...where have you been?" He stuttered without meaning to.

Draco had a look on his face that Harry had never really seen before. It was a strange mix of coldness and overwhelming emotion, and for a fleeting moment Harry wondered if he was going to cry. The moment passed, and there was rage there, a frigid sort of madness that made his heart jump.

"What time is it?" Harry jolted at the hint of sorrow in his tone, and looked at the windows.

"About three," he hesitated. "You've been gone . . . "

"I've been out," Draco fixed his stare at the tips of his shoes. "I went to see my father."

The sudden hush was almost overwhelming, and Harry's frown deepened as he caught his breath. "What did he say?"

"He said something interesting, actually," and Draco developed a crease between his eyebrows.

He finally decided to move and his jacket slipped off of his shoulders and he tossed it onto the coffee table. Harry followed his movements with his eyes as Draco shook some of the water out of his shirt and still sported that cold, frightening expression. "Did you know Riddle is in charge of my father's capital?" He clarified without Harry having to ask, "He basically runs every cent my father makes for that company."

Harry hadn't known that, and he looked away from Draco and thought about that bit of information seriously. "Your father . . . "

"Wasn't in on the scam," Draco lifted his chin and glanced down at him. "He was cheated as well, or didn't you know?"

He decided he didn't like Draco's tone at all, and his step backward was involuntary. Harry bit his lip and reckoned he could shake his head from side to side and stay safe. "No."

"Riddle still made off with the profits, or at least your dad did," you did, he thought.

"I don't think he meant...I mean, he probably thought that it was a group effort, you know?" He scolded himself internally for sounding desperate. "If I had known . . . "

Draco scoffed and said, "You would have risked it and gone to him, instead of doing as he said in the letter and staying out of it, am I right?"

Righteous anger coursed through him, and Harry tried to get the timidness out of his voice. "It's my family that paid for it, and you expect me to stay out of it? Wait..." he shook his, frowning confusedly before pointing at Draco. "Your father sent that letter?"

"Yes, my father sent that letter," he snapped.

Harry was angry now, and he chose to show it by crossing his arms and standing straight defiantly. "I didn't know that, he sent it anonymously."

"I'd think it would have been obvious," it was irrational, they both thought, because out of the two of them, only Draco would know Lucius' handwriting.

"I didn't know," he said firmly.

"But you did know about me."

Baffled, Harry wrinkled his brow and acted as if he hadn't heard him quite right. "What?"

Draco's earlier, intensely irate expression was back, and instead of cowing Harry into submission, it only made him feel as if someone was stabbing his chest maliciously. Draco had no plans of taming his glare, and he seemed to firm himself as he raised one ominous eyebrow.

"You knew I was going to live here. That's why you came back to New York."

Harry's arms were uncrossed without him knowing it, and his mouth was open and the frown gone. He looked away briefly and licked his lips, eyes suddenly burning and body taut.

Draco didn't stop. "You got your information from somewhere, and decided I would be your ticket into Madison and David. You figured I was an easy target, and you took the advantage..." he halted his accusations. "You used me."

He was shaking his head while Draco was talking, unable to believe that the one part of his story that he hadn't wanted Draco to know had suddenly come out of the woodwork. "No, just let me..."

"There's not much to explain. I don't know why I didn't catch on before . . . " The blond closed his eyes for half a second and then chuckled bitterly. "I didn't think you were capable of manipulating anyone. That stupid, modest appearance of yours. Well done," and his words were now cruel. "Really, you had me completely fooled."

"No!" He stepped forward helplessly. "I didn't know it was you!"

Draco flinched back angrily. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I didn't know it would be you when I came here," Harry saw the opening to get his say and almost jumped forward. "I thought it was just an underdog that worked there, not..."

"Oh, so now I'm an underdog?"

"No!" Harry shook his head painfully. "I'm not saying this right."

"I told you that you didn't have to say anything!"

"Please, just listen," he searched around for the right words, and decided to tell the truth, "Seamus told me someone from the company was here, and well, sometimes his information is vague at best . . . "

"You took information from a drug addict?" Draco nearly screeched.

"I didn't know it was you! I really didn't. I thought it might have been Remus, but then you showed up and said you worked there and that you were the heir...I didn't know what to do!"

"What does it matter, Harry?" He said Harry's first name as if he were addressing a child. "You used me to get closer to my dad. All of this," he waved a hand around at the apartment, "was a lie. Everything you've ever said was with the intention to take advantage of me so I could jump onto your stupid bandwagon for some kind of justice!"

"No, it changed, I promise it changed!"

Draco shook with rage. "What changed? You decided you'd have a better hold on me if we fucked? You figured, oh, he's vulnerable enough to be attracted to me, so I might as well use that against him as well!"

"I had no desire to know you that way...I never wanted you to like me that way, I thought we could be friends..."

It looked as if that would be Draco's breaking point, and his tone turned venomous. "After all the men you've caught in your infuriating trap, you still think it's impossible for me to fall in love with you?"

That statement made it hard for Harry to retort, and he gaped. Draco wouldn't stop, "You really are an idiot. But then, you're smart enough to lead me along. To have me completely duped with your innocuous and pacifistic personality." He mocked him, "'Help me, Draco. The mean slick killed my parents and now I'm filthy rich!'"

Harry couldn't say anything.

"Acting like you didn't understand half of the world around you...well, you know," and he gave him a look of simulated pity. "It's really time to face reality. Because you're so goddamn stubborn, you screwed everyone with the same ugliness that Riddle did."

"No, don't say that . . . " Tears, Harry had tears in his eyes and he couldn't stop them. "It changed. I started to forget about it because I was with you."

"But it was always there, in the back of that stupid head of yours," he seemed to get angrier as Harry shook his head. "Don't lie to me. You're not going to lie to me any more!"

"That wasn't it!" The repeated internal mantra in his head was no, no, no... "I didn't think of you romantically but when I did I dropped any intention of going ahead with my plan." At the word 'plan' Draco's eyes flashed. "It wasn't even a plan! It was on a whim, I never expected..."

His rant faded as Draco looked away. It seemed like forever before the blond looked back, and there was no openness, no chance for redemption in his stare.

"You used me," he said slowly, finally. "I can't let that go."

Harry felt like screaming. He felt as if every let down in his entire life had lead up to that one moment. He had never dared to get close to anyone, not when people were so inconsistent in his life. He'd left them instead as payback for his parents leaving him, unintentionally remaining impassive and indifferent to everything. But he hadn't been able to escape Draco Malfoy, and Draco hadn't been able to escape him.

For the first time in a very long time, Harry had a solid reason to hate himself. There had always been that voice in the back of his head telling him that he wasn't worth anyone's compassion. Always that ache on his self-esteem and the fear of abandonment. It had never had any vitality, that is, until that very moment when he seemed to realize how badly he'd messed up.

Draco had left his fiancé for him, had left the approval of his parents and faced possible ridicule from media and friends alike. Yet Harry had been selfish enough to think that he could have Draco while he was near, while he was infatuated, and inside himself he had ignored the warning signals of it meaning something deeper. Something like love.

"Please don't do this," it came out as a low murmur, hardly loud enough for Draco to hear him.

He wanted it to be a mistake, not knowing how much Draco wanted the same, and he wanted to shout and fight for a person he didn't deserve. He didn't deserve it and they both knew it with finality...with clarity. Reality had hit Harry, and the twists and turns of his life seemed trivial compared to their breaking a part.

Draco then ended everything without any hesitance, and with the surety of someone deeply hurt, but resigned. "Stay away from me," he said.

Crying at that point seemed stupid, and Harry stood there and watched him turn his back and leave. He blanked out for a while, minutes turning into hours, until the room came back to him quiet and still. Draco was gone, and he was left empty-handed and in shock. What had he done? What could he do to make this right?

Stay away from me. The words burned across his chest and sunk deep inside his head. He would do as Draco told him to do, and he didn't weep or throw anything though he felt like unseating the world. Harry sank down onto the couch slowly, the sound of rain renewed in his ears and the shut door imprinted in his mind like a snapshot. The burning traveled from his fingers to his toes, and he suddenly wanted to run.


	28. Bang Bang

Blaise Zabini didn't have anything to say at the moment. There were thoughts though, fleeting and scattered and not exactly appropriate material to be said aloud. He wasn't ever an eloquent guy, and on the rare chance that he did have something to say that was somewhat intelligent, he remained oblivious to his own savvy. He was a simple man, and he generally took advice instead of handed any out, so nobody expected much of him.

What, after all, was he to say to his friend who was currently slouching on his couch and in a state of complete demoralization? He'd chosen, wisely, to step outside and let Hermione handle the issue. He figured Draco was so angry that his presence wouldn't be missed, and the subject of him being a bad friend during situations of distress would not come up until a very long time after that day.

He was a lot like Harry in that way, he supposed, and stepping out of the way while Hermione comforted Draco was something he felt guilty about. Hell, he felt the guilt all around, since he had prompted Draco to get out and see the world, so to say, and that had inevitably led him to Harry. Blaise had been supportive of their relationship, and now that it had broken apart rather abruptly, he felt deep remorse for giving his best friend false hope.

Blaise Zabini was, honestly, so simple that there was no way he would have been able to predict the outcome of Harry and Draco's secret affair turned into all out public intimacy. The question on everyone's mind, was where had Harry gone from 'modest and rather tactless artist' to 'cunning manipulator' in the space of one incredibly horrible twenty-four hours. What the hell had happened?

What the fuck?

He was currently moping on the stoop up to the townhouse (smoking enough cigarettes to kill a small elephant) and looking up at the blue sky that mocked him in its clarity. What had Harry done? Blaise was sure that he could have seen it behind that easy smile and meek countenance if he had tried. Damn it, he was a smart guy, and he hated himself for not seeing and for not being in there to listen to his friend as he threw pride away and told them that he had been played. They had all been played; mercilessly.

Blowing out a cloud of grungy smoke and observing the storm clouds coming back in, he shook his head and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. The ashes settled at his feet, and he watched them morosely before burying his head in his hands. He had trusted Harry not to break his friend's heart, and that in itself had been brainless. The guy ran when there wasn't anything to run from. He was completely unreliable and had a chip on his shoulder all including spoiled rich kids and relatively normal human beings. But despite all of that, he was kind, and sensitive, and the perfect sort of companion for Draco.

Hermione thought it was a travesty, naturally, but had made the mistake of worrying for Harry as well. Draco had said tightly that he didn't care whether Harry was caught by Riddle or not, just so long as he stayed far away and out of sight. She'd immediately called him on the lie, and he had been lying, based on his downtrodden expression thereafter. He had the right to be angry, she'd said, but her anxiety had created a crease in her brow that would not go away.

Sure, Blaise understood the circumstances, and he could partially understand the reason Harry had done what he had. Using Draco, however, crossed the line in his books, and he imagined that if he ever saw Harry again (undoubtedly, being that it was a small city) he would be so angry perhaps he'd start a brawl right then and there. Hitting Harry seemed like an almost unholy thing to do, though, since Blaise had become so familiar with him he didn't know if he could. It was all so confusing, and Blaise wasn't cut out for being the middle man.

Shit.

He thought about calling Remus, and wondered if Harry had told him anything about their fight. Harry would be too ashamed, he reckoned, and decided a civil talk with the flower man was in order. He would wait until Draco wasn't around and then ask Remus for his advice. The issue at hand was out of his league.

Blaise crushed another cigarette beneath his foot and sighed. He'd been out there for so long he figured Draco would either be asleep or in the shower, and that it was safe to slouch back into the apartment.

Hermione was sitting at the island drinking a cup of coffee when he entered, and he stopped and simply stared at her until she noticed him.

She gave him a knowing look and a tilt of her head. "Shower," she said in regards to Draco, "He's terribly angry."

"Hmm, I wonder why?" he slapped his pack of cigarettes onto the counter and sat down heavily, "he's not going to do anything stupid is he?"

Hermione frowned. "I doubt it, but what exactly do you mean by stupid?"

Blaise took a sip of her drink and leaned forward, "I mean like confronting Riddle, or, you know, running out on us and leaving New York all together."

"That's saying a lot about Draco's character," she observed, "I don't see him doing that at all. He's angry, but he's also completely dejected."

"I'd rather have him leave then be dejected. He won't move from that couch for a couple of days then." Blaise glanced at her in question, "Do you mind him staying here?"

The mug had been half way up to her lips before she stopped and glared at him. "Of course it's fine. Draco needs his friends around right now."

Blaise looked away uncomfortably.

"Have you talked to Remus, yet?"

"You read my mind," and he grinned, sliding a napkin around the counter with one finger. "I'll have to do it later, I don't know...I feel guilty 'fraternizing with the enemy'."

"Oh please," Hermione sighed delicately, "Remus is a smart man, he'll know what to do. Plus, he can tell us if Harry's skipped town or something."

"You really think he will?" he asked unsurely, "he's pretty close to his goal now. I bet Draco told him all about Madison and David."

Hermione gave him a skeptical glance. "I don't think Draco's that stupid. Besides, Harry isn't the Spanish Inquisition, and he did say to Draco that things had changed..."

"I can't believe that," Blaise shook his head, "I can't trust him anymore, sorry."

"No need to apologize," she remarked casually, and got up to place her cup in the sink. She turned on the water and rinsed it out, and Blaise watched her silently. "He did an awful job on Draco."

"He's a fucking asshole."

Hermione frowned impatiently at him, "Blaise," she scolded, "Tell me that you don't think Harry was actually in love with him. Tell me you don't think this can be salvaged."

"I don't think Harry loved him, and this can't be salvaged."

"Then I say you're a liar," she smiled, wiping her hands on a dish cloth. "Their feelings are mutual, I'd say they're both hurt, and my main worry is whether Harry will disappear again, or if Riddle will find him first."

"Riddle hasn't harassed him at all. Not since I've been around him," he grunted. "I can't tell what's a lie and what's truth. Or whether there is any truth at all."

Hermione was giving him that look.

"What?" he asked, agitated.

She merely smiled again, "I like it when you're like this. It's unfortunate that it takes a sort of tragedy to bring out the best in some people."

"Or the worst."

They'd never actually had a heavy conversation before. Hermione wasn't the philosophical type, and preferred evidence and statistics opposed to filly nilly psychology. Blaise was a deep thinker when he wanted to be, and together he supposed they were aptly matched. That sort of expression on her face made him feel rather nice about himself, though.

"Lucius Malfoy can't find out about this, Blaise," she said ominously after a few moments of silence.

"What? Why?"

She sighed and shook her head. "Because if he tells Riddle, Harry is likely to be in some trouble."

"Riddle will suppose Draco won't care what will happen to him," he observed. "Man, this is fucked up."

Hermione moved some newspapers and scowled, "I've never been in this situation before. I'd say it's rather like fiction becoming reality."

"Or it could be some sordid joke and everyone's waiting outside the apartment to jump out and say 'just kidding!'"

She laughed, sitting down once more. "You'd like that wouldn't you?"

"No," he protested angrily. "I'd be fucking pissed."

"Language."

Apparently, leniency with Blaise's gutter mouth did not extend to personal crisis, tragedy and/or death. He suddenly had a thought, "what if Harry comes here looking for Draco?"

"Then we'll let them talk," she said confusedly, "What did you expect?"

"I expect to knock him on his ass. He won't be coming in here. I won't let Draco be any more miserable than he already is."

"I don't think that's the way to go about it," she put her head into her hand as her curly brown hair fell into her face attractively. "They should talk, and then they should go to the police."

"Harry doesn't like the fuzz," he smirked at her disgust with his outdated jargon. "Besides, that's going a little too far, don't you think?"

She sat up completely and raised both eyebrows. "Not at all. If someone was out to kill me, I'd go straight to the nearest authority. Harry's been lucky so a far."

Blaise didn't agree with her on that point, but chose not to say anything. If the story was true, Harry wouldn't go to the police based purely on their untrustworthy relationship. A victim with a record and a cop with an unsympathetic ear smelled like disaster to Blaise.

"Riddle can't just go around killing people," on second thought, "Can he?"

"He's a millionaire with quite a lot of seedy contacts, and I'd say he's gotten away with more than murder and embezzlement."

"So Riddle's the bad guy...right," he murmured skeptically, "That makes Harry some sort of fucking saint?"

She blinked at him in contemplation, "I don't think so. However bad this may have made him look," she stared away from him. "I honestly believe he didn't want to lead Draco on, or at least something had changed," she added after Blaise rolled his eyes. "This is serious, Blaise."

He got up then, muttering about another cigarette and walked out of the door. He heard Hermione sigh impatiently behind him, but didn't turn around to start up the conversation again. Blaise clomped down the stairs, closing his eyes against the sun as he sat back down on his lonely stoop. He never thought his girlfriend would be paranoid, and with her so worried it managed to chivvy him into worrying as well.

Blaise bit his lip and glowered. It couldn't be that serious, could it?

Harry found walking to be a good way to test limits. If he decided to go and keep on going then he would, and if he abruptly stopped and turned around...it was likely he was staying. Unfortunately, at least for him, he didn't have any inclination to walk that far out of Queens. He'd left too early to confront Remus, and the cool crisp morning air stung his lungs sharply. It promised to be a lovely day, but all Harry was focused on was remaining oblivious. A tough hope, considering replayed words and curses seemed to push against his skull interminably.

He'd barely walked three blocks away from the shop before he was making a detour and planning to go in one long and crazy circle. His shoes scuffed against the sidewalk, and he traveled past places just barely opening. He must have looked completely mad, walking at such a furious pace with the occasional shake of his head to purge bad thoughts.

After all, the rut he'd dug himself into was insanity...he was insane! For once in his highly unfavorable nineteen years of living, he imagined a future with someone and it was snatched away just like that. Harry did, in fact, love that pompous, narrow-minded suit named Draco freaking Malfoy. Too bad really, he thought, because taking a bus out of New York sounded fabulous right then.

Undeniably, without a doubt, stupidly in love was he, and he cursed his bad luck again. He'd gone and screwed everything up and like hell he didn't feel absolutely disgusting. In all of his moping and self-incriminating litanies, he never once believed he could fix the wrong and make it a right and get Draco Malfoy back. After all, was just a simple guy and not usually charming enough for people to want to keep around. Ta, that was what he thought.

Deluded though they both were, Harry had unwittingly stepped into the 'waiting place' so that he wouldn't have to confront the issue too soon. Draco had similarly rented an apartment next to him, and they remained oblivious to each other in those imaginary doldrums just for people who hid from inevitabilities. Perfect, just perfect. The question was; what was he going to do now? Did he have the ability to make up for what he'd done? Would Draco even listen to him?

Stay away from me.

Harry had never exactly felt this sort of self-loathing before, and with this new feeling came understanding in more ways than one. This was perhaps how a person felt when they said the wrong thing and messed people up, or manipulated someone, or simply broke their heart... He hated feeling the way he did and that guilt that ate at him was worse than anything he'd ever felt before. He tried to switch sides on the situation and think, what would I want myself to do to get me back? The problem was, when he thought about it that way...he realized he wouldn't give that person another chance. Being that person, Harry decided, really sucked.

In all of the relationships he'd attempted with a person, there was always something either of them did wrong that would hurt, and sequentially end things. There had been no ever after or romantic love that lasted forever and he supposed that it was party his fault. Naturally, Harry had a great capacity for affection, but over time he'd lost that pushover type persona and decided to take on an oblivious 'I don't expect anything from you' sort of air. It prepared him for any unseen jabs at his heart, but made him callous and unfeeling at the same time.

His mistakes just seemed to be racking up, and as he walked down the street his mind turned a mile a minute. Despite his raging thoughts, above all, he shook his head and wondered: what if it hadn't of been Lucius' son living above a flower shop in Queens? What if the two had never entwined and become one huge disaster...would they have met by chance? In a city, small from the ferry to Staten Island but large on a street in Manhattan, would two people with completely different lives have fallen for each other without any motives or lies?

And in the end, what was a relationship but motives and lies? At least Harry used to believe that. He used to think that romanticism had ceased a long time ago, but the affection Draco and Harry sometimes shared seemed...ideal. The mornings waking up beside each other, skin on skin and soft hands, sincere laughter, and a smile saved just for each other. Was that not a sign of two people that had the ability to be together?

But Draco had been that person moving into the loft. He had been the guy Harry had set out to motivate, and ultimately all it had come down to were lies. No, Harry shook his head as his feet sped up a little. The tenderness was real...scarily real. Though he chose to acknowledge it, that didn't mean he was jumping at the chance to find a solution to this entire debacle. His thoughts on the subject continued, however...without a reprieve.

The sound of tires screeching brought him out of his reverie, and Harry turned his head a bit to see a black car out of the corner of his eye.

Now, Harry had been in the running business for quite a while, and without a doubt...knew how to run. He also knew when it was time to run, and he took one darting lunge and started a heavy sprint. Luckily, he was in a crowd of people, all of which must of thought he looked rather silly running down the sidewalk, but payed him no mind. Harry briefly thought that it was rather stupid of the person to try and catch him in a car...if there had been traffic they would have been shit out of luck.

Tires screeched around the corner as he turned down another street, jostling someone and yelling a quick sorry to the person behind him. The car followed, started speeding up. Harry swore and crossed another cross street, not at all tired, but getting annoyed. He took a chance and turned at an alley way, hoping it wouldn't be wide enough for a car to pass through. Unfortunately, it was, and Harry cursed badly.

The fence between both buildings was almost too tall for him to hop over, but he took a chance and got a leg up from the trash can, springing onto the wall sideways just as the car turned into the alley. He saw a car door open, and heard the engine stop.

All of the sudden, a crack split the air followed by another, and Harry could practically feel the force of the bullets hitting the fence. With a small yell, he shoved himself off of the edge and onto the other side. His shoulder hit the ground, hard, and he winced.

Managing to pull himself up once more, he grasped his arm with one hand and made sure his backpack was still on before jogging out of the alley. He looked back once, before shaking his head as he heard the car drive away.

He hit 73rd and started back down toward the shop. His arm burned when he moved it, and he grimaced to see dirt all over him.

Remus would ask...he was bound to ask, and Harry hated it when people asked him questions. He made it back to the loft without further incident, surprisingly, and he shuffled in and passed the customers. Remus had given him the morning off weeks in advance, since Harry had been working nonstop for too long, he'd said. He therefore decided a walk had been in order. He should have realized his relentless bad luck would not let this slide.

Remus caught sight of him right away.

"Harry! Lee and Angelina were just asking about you. You just missed them," and Remus suddenly frowned. "Why are you all dirty?"

Harry smiled too nervously, "Tripped and fell...the potholes are a killer!"

Remus was silent for half a second. "Well then, let me see it..." the botanist raised both eyebrows and walked toward him. He grabbed the filthy arm a bit too hard, and Harry hissed. "What the hell happened?" he asked imperiously.

He should have known he wouldn't be able to escape a curious Remus, and he hugged his arm closer and shook his head. "I was...climbing this fence..."

An eyebrow raised, "You were climbing a fence?"

"Yeah," and Harry nodded, watching the skepticism on his friend's face.

"I give you the morning off and you decide to climb fences..."

They stared at each other for a bit, distracted customers milling around as they squared off. Harry was giving him that 'I'm-lying-and-can't-help-but-show-it' look, and Remus was eyeballing him with disbelief and assertion on his face.

"All right, all right," Harry relented, "a car followed me into an alley and I had to climb over the fence to get away from their rather shiny weapons. Busted my arm in the process."

"What!" Remus grabbed at his arm again and carefully prodded it as Harry exclaimed his displeasure. "Oh calm down, you've messed it up pretty badly. I'm going to push on your shoulder, okay?"

Remus didn't wait for him to say yes or no, and soon there was excruciating pain and then nothing. "What the fuck?!"

"Your arm was all wonky," there was a hint of laughter in his voice. "So I fixed it for you."

"Wonky?" Harry gave him a dirty look. "Jesus Christ..."

"That's me," Remus smiled. "Now what happened?"

Harry walked over to the counter and sat himself down, carefully prodding his shoulder. His sweatshirt was covered in grime, and the white tee underneath had marks from the pavement embedded into the fabric. No amount of spray and wash would get that out. He imagined he looked quite a mess, and wondered why he hadn't made a detour before coming back to the shop. The top of his shoulder was an angry red and no doubt there would be a large bruise there in the morning.

"A car. Damn this hurts."

"You're being too vague, so I'm going to have to assume." Remus scowled at him badly. "A car chased you into an alley, shot at you, and you had to jump over a fence."

He frowned in response, looking slightly disgusted. "Don't be so dramatic."

"Well," Remus said, affronted. "I was only wondering how someone looking to shoot you isn't dramatic."

"Did I say they were going to shoot me?" Harry asked impetuously. "They only wanted to sell me some time share."

"Harry...shut up."

He did, and settled for jostling his arm enough to where it wasn't too uncomfortable. He briefly thought of Tom's fantastic timing, bothering him and all, and then the realization that Tom knew where he was and that Draco wouldn't care if he was hurt. Harry dropped his head into his hand involuntarily, a sting behind his eyes and a hammer thudding against his heart. What a mess.

"Mind telling me what the hell has been going on for the past week? Or why Draco isn't living here anymore?" Remus scowled at him darkly. "Or maybe what was up with that attempted drive-by..."

Harry smirked. "Only in California."

Rolling his eyes, Remus looked at his friend and clenched his jaw. "Well?"

"Listen Remus, these guys are the biggest idiots I've ever met, so the chances of them actually getting me are slim..."

"Why on earth would someone be after you?" Remus' started to panic. "What did you do?"

Harry chose not to tell Remus the entire story until there were no customers in the flower shop, and even then he was still overly cautious. He hopped up onto the counter, much to Remus' chagrin, and began the same tale he'd told Draco. Running through the story one more time was slightly painful, being that he expected instant rejection from Remus the moment it was over. He figured he ought to sigh and get it over with, no matter how much his heart was telling him not to get Remus involved. He supposed it didn't matter now, Riddle only worried about influential people knowing and with Draco's indifference...Harry would be gone soon.

"You're scaring the living shit out of me," Remus interrupted sometime during Harry's mad tangent about Draco running out on him. "The mafia is after you and you're jolly roger in my shop?"

Harry closed his mouth immediately, surprised at Remus cussing. He'd known that he would be told to leave, though right away was a little offensive. He flinched back a little, and Remus stepped forward.

"Are you safe here? Will they try to off you while you're with me?" he said quickly.

"I don't know if Tom wants more murders on his hands...the police are already onto him," Harry swallowed nervously. "So no, I don't suppose so."

Remus sighed, and smiled. "Thank god. You're not going anywhere. I don't want you to step one foot out of that door," he jutted a thumb toward the front. "Understand?"

It took Harry a moment to understand, and when he did he was quite shocked indeed. "You're letting me stay?"

A crease appeared between Remus' eyebrows. "Where would you go otherwise? And besides...you're my employee, and it's my job to make sure the workplace is a safe and happy environment."

"If you did that, I'd have to quit."

But Harry was pleased, and they both could tell. After helping a customer locate a stock of gladioli (genus Gladiolus, Severus), Remus looked speculative for a moment and turned back to Harry. "Have you gone to the police at all?"

An impatient sigh escaped his lips."The last time I did they told me to get out of the station and not come back. But then again, they did throw me into a cell...and then of course Seamus was up against the bars yelling, 'can you open a window in here? It's stuffy, haha.'"

"No, I mean have you told them about your situation," he asked again, lips twitching. Harry blinked.

"I did at first. A long time ago. They didn't believe me because I was in some trouble at the time. See, we were kicking it at this place by Seamus', and his stupid friend Mulciber decided to break into a house. Tom's guys' showed up then, I guess they were tipped off, and we had to tail it out of there...the cops caught us before we could get away, and I tried to tell them about what we were running from...

"I was young, and stupid. They didn't believe me and I can see how they didn't. My record wasn't clean. My hand was all cut up from punching in a window to get out of the house. I wasn't a reliable person. I'm still unreliable."

"What about now?" Remus asked quietly. "You're not the same person now, and you did get punished for it...right?"

Harry groaned painfully. "All that community service...and Juvenile Hall of course. That was a kick."

"Listen Harry," Remus suddenly said, intense. "Even though you do look kind of like a delinquent," he said admittedly, and Harry frowned. "You're an upstanding artist now...you're dating one of America's top celebrities (as much as I loathe saying it)...you're considered a different person now."

"I was dating him," and Harry turned away to stare off into space. "And are you so sure I'm a different person? I'd still steal, lie, and cheat to get what I want. I'd still hand a drug addict a fix for a little information. I'd still drive over the speed limit with an unlicenced car, and sell what I can to get what I can."

Harry smiled at him then, sadly. "I'm still the same person-just smarter. This art thing...I can do it, but really...none of this can last. It's too risky to last."

"But you could still try," Remus said, frustrated. "You could still live honestly...you're doing it now...you're working for me."

"To keep up an endless supply of stolen money and support my best friend's drug habit? Sounds noble, Remus."

"I don't know why you don't think you're a good person," he said, and walking over to lean against the counter. He stared at Harry for a few moments.

"You've never done anything too alarming."

Harry laughed, a very lilting sound that showed true and rare amusement. "Did I ever tell you about the time Seamus and I attempted to rob an ATM?"

Therein followed a story that did in fact, alarm Remus enough to laugh hysterically by the time it was done. He imagined Harry's criminal record funny as hell, and wondered how many cops Harry had sweet talked into getting out of jail. He told a story about being held over night with a guy who was bribing the cops with sandwiches (Blaise?) and they had a laugh over badly planned heists and minor illegal escapades.

"I've got cash to live by, thanks to Tom, but I've got to turn that in as proof when I get the other book...you don't know how many times I've just considered moving away and buying a little place and living...but hell...he'd find me. He always finds me."

"I still think you should go to the police..."

Harry groaned. "Why does everyone say that?"

"Because it's a good idea," he pushed a lock of tawny hair away from his face. Harry gave him an impatient glare, and decided to get to work before the day was wasted. He ran upstairs to put his stuff away and trotted over to Remus who held out a broom, sporting one of his Remus-like looks.

"Don't think this subject is dropped..." he started, but Harry sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I wouldn't dare to hope," suddenly, he turned and gave Remus a sharp glance. "I'm serious, though, this can't get out. If Riddle finds out we've broken up..."

Remus went a bit pale, and looked at the tops of his shoes. He bit his lip and gazed at Harry speculatively. "What does it matter if Draco knows or not?"

"Because now, Draco won't go to the cops if his idiot boyfriend shows up dead," Harry tilted his head to the side and made a face. "Ex-boyfriend, I suppose."

Remus would have thought that it was said with nonchalant indifference, if Harry hadn't turned away after he'd spoken and had the words not come out shaky. He briefly wondered why Harry was even trying, considering Remus would see through that cool facade. Harry thought he had it perfected, but deception bred a nasty revelation of a person's humanity...and fuck if Remus was going to fall for that 'I'm-innocent-and-free-spirited' mask Harry loved so much.

"Yeah, sure," he shook his head at Harry's back and walked over to the counter to help a waiting customer. Just as he was opening the register, a sudden wave of nostalgia washed over him, and with it came the smell of Lee's cologne, and one moment in particular that jostled his memory.

"So they've broken up? They just got together!" Angelina was saying. "This is news to us, and probably everyone else. They're practically America's sweethearts."

Lee snorted gleefully."Not anymore."

Remus must have spaced out for a few minutes, because the customer was waving a hand in front of his face. He apologized and quickly glanced at Harry. As he was passing the customer his change, he told himself not to worry that Lee or Angelina might do something detrimental to ensure Harry's early demise by Tom Riddle. Something had to give...and it would be pure bad luck if say...one of them were to go to the papers...

Well, fuck

Sunlight streamed through the room and across the furniture of Blaise's apartment. It would pass from cloud to cloud, settling on his still form for short periods of time. All Draco knew was that it was bothering his eyes, and that he wasn't quite sure where he was. He turned over in his sleep, feeling the sheets tangle beneath him, and groaned. Could morning have come so soon? His mind skipped back to the following day, and he wondered where the time had gone.

He was a bit more awake then, and managed to blink an eye open before shutting it savagely. Screw the sun giving energy to every living thing in the world...it was fucking annoying. Draco blinked again and listened to the traffic outside, tired and unable to get up. He remembered yesterday and Hermione's talk with him, them ordering Chinese food that he had declined, and collapsing back onto the couch for an early night in order to not think about a certain someone.

The routine he was currently humoring himself with was lasting more than a day, and he just knew that Blaise and Hermione would continue to pester him until he moved out or made peace with Harry. Unlikely, he thought sourly. It felt as if he'd become one with the couch with how much time he spent on it, and besides regular showers and the occasional bite to eat...Draco hadn't done much of anything.

He wasn't depressed, not really. Hermione had said that if he carried on this way he would be in trouble, emotionally and physically. Being immobile would not only be a constant downer, but make him fat and ugly with no purpose in life. He could now safely say he knew what a cripple felt like, but wouldn't ever convey his obviously genius (dramatic) observation in front of Hermione again. He was still nursing that bruise.

But there truly wasn't anything to do now that he was off of work and without a boyfriend. He felt as if he simply existed, well, for Blaise's amusement at least. His friend hadn't been around that much since he'd moved in, and though Draco supposed he understood – it was still a tiny bit of a blow to his ego. Much like a lot of incidents had been those past few days...and there was Draco Malfoy, famous celebrity socialite without anyone but retards to socialize with. Blaise was a multiple retard within one brain.

Time it seemed didn't exist upon their couch with the plastic covers and stylish pillows. When on the couch, nothing but the comfort of that piece of furniture was prominent in his mind. The couch had a power Draco could not compete with, and so he relented and turned over to get a bit more sleep.

It was a stupid idea since Blaise decided to wake him up violently, and he looked up at his friend with annoyance and deep irritation on his face.

"What? I'm sleeping you goddamn..."

"You could be a little more nice," Blaise snapped half-heartedly. "You are living in our apartment. Besides, I can't get it up when you're in the next room so you being here means no fucking sex."

If he wasn't awake before...he was awake now. Draco looked at him, irate, and a crease between his eyebrows formed. "I didn't need to know that, and if I'm such a burden on your sex life, I'll leave..."

"No!" Blaise smiled at him, somewhat panicked. "Don't leave, I was just kidding. Well, not really, I still can't have sex, but Hermione is reluctant to as well..."

"Blaise, you woke me up for a reason...and I'm still waiting to hear it."

Suddenly looking timid, Blaise scrunched his eyes and made a face. "You're not going to like it."

Draco scoffed, turning over once more in hopes of a little more sleep. "Then why did you wake me up?"

He felt more than heard Blaise adopt another nervous expression, and there was a small plop as something was put on his blanket-covered hip. Draco opened an eye and looked at what seemed to be an article from a magazine.

"Daily gossip," Blaise mumbled. "You should read it."

What he meant was, you should read the page I folded over for you because it says something scandalous about you, and quite possibly incriminating. Draco was reluctant to do so, but took it off of his leg regardless. The headline was just as dramatic as he thought it would be, and he sighed. He gave it a short glance before putting it back down and shrugging.

"You expected it," his friend commented wryly. "I thought you would have wanted it to be on the DL, you know?"

"Blaise, I think the headline, 'Heir to Malfoy Fortune and Rising Artist Break up' doesn't keep it on the down-low."

Blaise pulled a face. "But you could have stopped that paper from printing. Did you fucking want it to spread around?"

A hand went over Draco's eyes and he closed them tightly. "No, It's just no goddamned surprise that it is around."

"Hermione's pretty upset, so don't act so nonchalant about it when you see her."

"What do you mean?" he asked, unveiling a curious stare.

Blaise frowned deeply, and scratched the stubble on his chin. "Well now your dad knows all about it, and that means Riddle does...and well...she thinks Harry's in some deep shit."

Draco sat up, and Blaise was so startled that he scooted back and away from him. "Wait, what?"

Blaise looked surprised. "Oh...so you don't get it."

"What don't I get?" When he didn't say anything, Draco grinded his teeth. "What don't I get?"

His best friend smirked. "That without your support, Riddle feels bold enough to go in for the kill...so to say."

"Why are you grinning?!" Draco got up, throwing off the covers and getting to his feet. "I think that's a pretty big fucking problem!"

He nearly tripped over Blaise's feet in his haste to depart, and Blaise stared up at him in amusement. "This is pushing my tolerance for dramatics, Draco. I'm sure Riddle won't do anything too bad."

Draco suddenly stopped, his boxers ruffled and white tee-shirt skewed across his shoulders and torso. "You're right," and he was breathing heavily. "You know what, for once in your pathetically nonsensical life...you are actually right."

Blaise raised both of his hands in thanks and made the hollow sound of people cheering. "Thank you, I know I'm fabulous."

"Yeah," his breathing slowed, and a smug smile appeared. "In fact, Potter can take care of himself. He doesn't need me, and it's not like I care in the first place so..." Draco shrugged both shoulders with his palms out mockingly, and grinned. "Let him deal with Riddle now that I'm not on his side. We'll see how he does."

Looking taken slightly aback, Blaise bit his lip and searched for the gentle scolding on the tip of his tongue. "Well, that wasn't really what I had in mind..." he glanced away. "Surely you should be a little worried."

"Oh please," Draco flapped a hand at him. "He's an adult, I'm sure he can survive long enough to get out of New York. And don't give me that look Blaise, because we both know he'll leave just like the coward he is."

"Draco, that reeks of fucking bitterness."

The blond glared and said,"No shit."

Before he could escape to the bathroom and wash up, Blaise grabbed at his sleeve looking particularly strained. "Listen, you know you don't mean any of that, and I know we both know that Riddle may do something drastic to shut Harry up. All I'm saying is that we should maybe consider the fact that Harry could get hurt..."

"No," and he tore out of Blaise's grip. "He'll be fine. Besides, it's not my fault it got leaked to the press."

Blaise turned away and nodded. "Bad luck."

They shared a tense silence, before Draco sighed and took a seat. "I'm hoping nothing will happen. I'm hoping Harry will just leave."

"But you don't want him to leave," he looked at Draco a bit unsurely. "Not really."

Laughing seemed to hurt his throat, Draco noticed as he chuckled sarcastically and creased his eyebrows. "No, not really. The thought of him leaving and never coming back makes me want to vomit."

Blaise gazed off into space. "He's got to leave," he said after some time. "He knows it, and I'm sure once the flower man realizes what trouble is living in his loft...he'll want Harry gone too."

"Remus?" and Draco looked at him skeptically. "Nah, Remus will want him to stay. That bothers me as well," he shook his head in frustration. "All these smart people are acting like complete idiots."

Blaise stared and then nudged him, grinning. "You fucking bet they are."

Harry and Remus had an enlightening dinner the night that the article came out, and they somehow came up with a plan of action. Remus didn't want to lose Harry as an employee and (mostly) a friend, but they both agreed that it would be in his best interest to skip town for a little while, at least. Harry was fully supporting the idea of running as fast as his legs could carry him in the opposite direction, but he knew that leaving the 'Draco issue' (as they so dubbed it) would only grate on his conscious until he went insane.

There was talk of making peace with Draco, but that would take time, and Harry didn't want to confront his roommate any time soon. The guilt was tearing through his body and wearing him out...and everyone in the shop and the loft had noticed. He was pale, as skinny as usual but unhealthily so, and his eyes were sunken from nights spent without sleep. Remus had asked if he wanted to go out for some terrible café food, and they'd closed shop that day and traipsed out and down the sidewalk.

Dinner was as expected, ghastly, but they both talked extensively on the circumstances involving Tom Riddle and his parents. Remus did not blame him for what he had done, but the look in his eyes was not of sympathy...but of pity. Harry hated seeing pity in someone's eyes, especially when it was directed at him and for something he'd...well, something he'd done wrong. Remus had simply sighed, and Harry knew that he understood that things had changed, that the plan to manipulate Draco was never really a plan, and that Harry-somewhere along the way–had fallen in love.

A surprise waited for them as they walked home, however, and a cloud of smoke could be seen just on the sunset's horizon.

"That looks like it's around our area," Remus observed, and Harry looked at where he pointed. They rounded the corner and there was a moment of complete shock before Harry pelted forward; Remus not far behind.

A fire engine was parked outside, and the large hose attached to the hydrant was just barely putting out tiny licks of flames about the front panel of the store. The front was charred completely, the display window barely touched and only a few plants singed. The damage was minimal, though scorch marks stained the top of the door frame and the windows, curling around the stone work like shadowy silhouettes.

They spoke with the fire department for a short time, and suddenly there were cops on the scene and interrogating a frazzled Remus. He looked around for Harry, didn't see him, and went back to paying attention to their inquiry.

"So you say, nothing could have provoked an attack? Nothing at all?"

He hesitated for a half a second, and then shook his head. "I can imagine it could have been anyone," he flinched when a bulky man in a fire fighter suit stepped on some glass. "Are you sure it was arson?"

"There was a witness that claimed it was a bottle of alcohol and a rag, we can assume it was intentional," the officer, Kingsley, wrote something down on his tiny pad of paper. He'd introduced himself as a detective, along with his partner Tonks, who smiled at him in sympathy before the barrage of questions came unheeded.

"No enemies, Mr. Lupin?" Tonks spoke up, and her bright eyes were naturally curious.

"Nope, not that I know of."

Remus knew that they knew that he was lying, and he sighed. If only he could see where Harry was...

"Remus, it looks like there isn't that much damage...oh." Harry had come up behind him, carrying what looked to be a broken piece of his window, delicately. His green eyes widened upon the sight of the Detectives, and Remus looked at them all as if he were watching a tennis match.

Kingsley looked up gruffly, noticed Harry, and grinned "Well, well, well."

Harry received a very warm nod from Tonks, who gazed a bit unsurely at her partner.

"Why is it," said Kingsley, smug. "That every time there's a matter of public safety, a disturbance, or even a fifty-one fifty, I find you."

Harry, having regained his backbone, shrugged charmingly and grinned. "I have a penchant for annoying the fuck out of you."

Remus wondered if you were supposed to talk to a police officer that way.

Kingsley pointed his pen at Harry threateningly. "Don't mess with me, Potter."

Sensing the impending arrest, Tonks held both of her hands up and smiled nervously. "How about we all calm down? I think we should focus on Mr. Lupin's issue of Destruction of Property and Arson before..."

"Oh, but they're all connected," Harry said ominously, and there was a mischievous smirk on his face that Remus had never seen him use before. "Like I've told you before..."

"Not this again," Kingsley said tiredly. He shoved his notebook away and buried his hands into his pockets. "I won't listen to this kid any fucking more."

"What do you mean they're connected?" Tonks said, curiously.

Harry grinned at Kingsley. I win.

"Since I've been living here, Riddle has been terrorizing Remus' shop in order to get to me."

"So that he can kill you, because he's the reason your parents are dead and he wants to get rid of the last remaining Potter, once and for all," Kingsley finished lamely. He gave Harry a less than impressed glance. "I am very tired of your crap."

"It's not crap! We filed a report when he broke in..." Harry closed his eyes for half a second and turned to Tonks desperately. "Detective..."

Tonks bit her lip, looking at her partner nervously before plowing ahead. "This stuff always does seem to happen to him, and it does seem like someone is out to harm-"

"I can't believe you're listening to this...this criminal!" Kingsley waved a hand at Harry, who scowled and mouthed 'criminal?' at Remus. "He's a notorious liar, and I'm not believing some crazy ass story from a street kid from Flushing!"

"Wow, okay," Harry said disbelievingly, and Tonks coughed mid-laugh.

"The odds of all of this being connected...it's just paranoia," Kingsley went on, "Not to mention taking the word of this demented..."

Harry frowned. "I am not demented."

Tired of Kingsley's histrionics, Tonks slapped him on the arm quite hard, and shook her head. "Let it go, all right Kingsley? We've already told Harry and Mr. Lupin we'd look into it."

Kingsley glared at Harry for a second, before turning on his heel and heading back to his squad car. Tonks sighed and looked back at them tiredly.

"Sorry, he's got an ego the size of Texas."

Harry watched the detective leave and smiled at Tonks smugly. "He's just pissed because he couldn't catch me that one time."

She smiled. "He is still sore about that," seeing Remus' quizzical expression, she quickly apologized. "Harry got into some trouble Downtown and Kingsley attempted to arrest him. He was a bit overweight then..."

"He had no chance of catching me," and Harry gave a toothy smile. "I don't even know why he tried."

Tonks shook her head, still amused, and looked back to where her partner sat impatiently. "We better go," she turned back to Remus. "We've written a report and we should follow up in a couple of days. We're going to find who did this, Mr. Lupin."

"You know who did it..." Harry mumbled, and Tonks glared at him.

"I'm trying Harry, okay? It's a lot harder to get people to investigate than you think..." Harry raised his eyebrows and she second guessed herself, and blushed. "Well, you know."

She shook Remus' hand, offered her condolences on the damage done to his shop and smiled. "Stay out of trouble." With that last warning, she turned and left.

The Fleur-de-lis no longer had a door. Glass littered the ground and the evidence of a fire was clear even in the dark of the evening. Remus sighed, looking upon his shop with a sort of resigned sadness.

"Well, at least it still stands. In fact," Remus pushed aside what was left of the door and kicked over a plank of wood. "I think this could be fixed relatively soon."

He was smiling, but Harry, having lost all amusement with the departure of Detective Tonks and Detective Kingsley, was glaring with seething hatred at the damage done to the shop.

Remus looked at him, and frowned. "It can be fixed. Don't worry, Harry."

But his indifferent cheerfulness did nothing to soothe Harry's raging anger, and extremely early the next morning, Harry set out against the cold with a baseball bat he'd borrowed from Dennis, and took a cab to where he knew Tom Riddle had his breakfast on Tuesdays. Without fail.

Walking towards his parking spot, a one Mr. Riddle was content in a very well pressed suit and a slightly full stomach. He brushed a strand of styled hair away from his face, and reached his car just as his foot made contact with what sounded like glass. He looked up, noticing the cracked windshield first and foremost, before he calmly surveyed the damage.

His lights were smashed in, as well as all of the windows, his paint chipped and doors dented, the rims were missing, and a long key scratch traveled completely around the body of his one-hundred thousand dollar Lexus.

Tom vaguely wondered why Harry always had to go for the car, before he cursed.

"Shit."


	29. Boom Boom

"At least I'm attempting to get you back on your feet."

Draco gave Hermione a look. "You're forcing me to drink something I don't want to, and you say that it's helping me?" He tilted the glass of fruity flavored alcohol at her and raised an eyebrow. "You'll say the same thing when I'm recovering from being an alcoholic."

"Don't be so contrary, Draco," she said to him sternly, but her words were loud over the pulse of the music. Beside her, adjusting his seat on the booth they were sitting at, Blaise looked up and grinned.

"She's condoning drinking habits. I suggest you take advantage of it, man."

He hadn't wanted to go to the stupid club, but without any real reason besides his wish to remain immobile for the rest of eternity, they had quickly overpowered him and made him go on their little outing. Much to Draco's chagrin, Hermione and Blaise had decided to team up and try to destroy his lingering devastation by getting him up and about, when all he really wanted to do was sit and watch bad television, or gaze off into space and vehemently not think about Harry Potter.

For the past few days, Draco had consented to his own depressing desires and sunk into a funk that would not, for lack of better words, fuck off. He'd gotten a call, previously that day, from Pansy, who had no qualms about reminding Draco that he had chosen Harry over her, and it had turned to shit faster than he could say Armani. The conversation went much like this:

"Pansy, you know that I really don't need this right now," he'd said into the phone, breathing harshly.

"Your mother is extremely upset. She doesn't show it, but Draco, everyone is disappointed in you. Your father hasn't said a word."

Knowing full well what Lucius' dangerous silences meant, he frowned into the receiver and closed his eyes. No doubt his father was livid that he'd had to hear it from the papers, being that he wouldn't show a hair of discontent upon hearing that the relationship had failed.

"I bet he's real happy it's over, so don't fuck with me."

There was a smug hum coming to him form over the phone, and he very nearly hung up on her. "Naturally he's vexed at having it in the papers. You seem to attract bad media."

"That's rich, coming from you. You practically live off of what those tabloids say."

She made a small muffled sound in the back of her throat. "Don't be like that Draco, I'm only warning you of what you will eventually have to face when you come back to work."

"I already know, you telling me isn't helping, and neither is calling this number."

"I figured you would be there," he couldpicture her examining her nails, all ego and porcelain-faced as if she hadn't a care in the world. "You're infinitely predictable, though...the artist was one mistake I didn't see coming."

Sarcasm, Draco decided, was a move that Pansy knew entirely too well.

"And besides," Pansy continued. "You're going to need my help once we announce our engagement to your family. Getting back into their good graces will be hard, I admit, but..."

"Wait. What?" Draco had jolted in his seat and ignored the worried look Hermione had given him. "We are not getting back together."

There was silence, and then he heard her take a breath. "But of course we are. Draco, I forgive you. You don't need to apologize. I can only hope you fully realize your mishap, and will think more practically from now on."

He was speechless, completely thrown at her words, and not to mention enraged. "You and I breaking up had nothing to do with Harry," a lie, he would admit, but there was partial truth somewhere in that statement. "It had everything to do with me not wanting to be miserable for the rest of my life!"

She huffed into the phone, indignantly. "You were fine with our getting married before he showed up."

"No, I wasn't fine. I would have ended it even if Harry had never moved in with me!" he took a deep, shattering breath. "I would have never been fine with it!"

"Well, this is news to me," Pansy said imperiously. "I had thought you were rather willing before..."

Draco was so tired of her whiny, unintelligent conversation that he was a hair's breath away from saying 'fuck you' and hanging up. His emotions, at the time, were going haywire, and he especially didn't need Pansy sticking her ugly nose into his break up with Harry. What was going through her head, anyway? He wanted to shout at her to leave him alone, but naturally that would leave him vulnerable to persecution over the mistake he had made. They were using it against him, he knew, like a preemptive strike to stop him from rebelling once more.

Infernally tired-and not at all equipped with enough patients to handle her-Draco had ended the talk with Pansy as soon as possible. She hadn't let go of the delusion they were engaged once more, because her voice had been smug and she had said with no room for protest:

"I will take care of the announcements, Draco, no need to worry. Once you rest up a bit and realize how lenient I am being with you...I'm sure you'll agree that the sooner we are married, the better."

She had hung up the phone, no if's and's or but's welcome in the nonexistent silence before he heard the dial tone. Now, sitting with Blaise and his girlfriend, staring out at the dancing couples and people getting completely intoxicated, Draco was in no mood to deal with anyone or anything.

The club they had dragged him to was in the heart of Manhattan, and the fact they had gotten in was a mystery to him. Blaise had said something about the bouncer feeling sorry for Draco's rather famous breakup, but it had disappeared in the haze that a few Cosmopolitans had brought. They'd gotten a booth right away, surveying the floor and the stage where the DJ was stationed and not at all to Draco's liking.

"Why did we have to come here?" he asked again, knowing full well he'd said it too many times for it to be amusing.

Hermione blinked at him slowly. "This is the first time you've been out in a week. Can't you just enjoy it?"

Draco screwed up his face and leaned back in the booth, his arms falling to his sides and his body sliding down his seat. "No," he groaned pathetically. "I can imagine myself enjoying some sleep."

"You've slept enough," she shook her frizzy head at him. "Now stop whining."

Blaise seemed to have remembered he was with company, and he turned to them with a mischievous grin on his face. "Guess who's back from Kenya?"

"Oh no, please! If I have to face Severus I'll die a horribly gruesome death, I know it."

Hermione scowled at the still pathetically whiny voice he was using.

"How was his trip?" she asked her boyfriend conversationally, ignoring Draco's dramatic hand-over-the-eyes and small whimpers.

"Oh fine, fine. He called wanting to talk to Draco, actually. Apparently he's been to see Remus."

"So he knows about the break up then," she commented mildly.

Draco scoffed. "Of course he does. That bastard knew what was happening the entire time, and didn't even bother to tell me," he said, sitting up and gaining a bit more fire. "I can just bet Harry told Remus all about what happened. Damn it."

"Well I don't understand why you're upset," Hermione said, batting Blaise's hand away from her drink. "You didn't do anything wrong, and I'm sure you're welcome back to the loft any time."

"I'm not going back there," he said quickly, back straight and eyes hard.

"Obviously," was her sour reply.

"And anyways," Blaise suddenly piped up, voice scratchy from taking a sip of his drink. "Severus is beyond mad at Harry and Lucius right now..."

"He's mad at my father?" he huffed. "Join the club."

"He says Lucius should have told you from the beginning, and that Harry is a 'two-faced little shit'," Blaise raised one dark eyebrow and grinned.

Draco felt a wave of pleasure at not being the only one angry at the pair of them. There was nothing, he thought as he looked at the undulating crowd and shifting lights, quite like being right.

"Aren't you going to tell him what Remus said?" Hermione jabbed Blaise with her finger, harshly.

Blaise suddenly looked nervous, and Draco's smug mood instantly vanished. "Well, you see Draco..." but his silence lasted too long.

"There was a fire at the Fleur-de-lis a few nights ago," Hermione interrupted, giving Blaise an exasperated glance. "Apparently the front part of the building was destroyed...Remus said to Severus that it wasn't bad, but that same day there was another incident with Harry..."

"Do we have to distress him this early into the night?" his best friend interjected, and shifted uncomfortably. "Let's get him good and drunk first."

"Blaise, shut up." He turned back to her, interested. "Now, what happened?"

She frowned, looking at the DJ who had just turned up the bass that halted her speech. Draco wondered at their intelligence if they thought a club was a good place to talk, and a notoriously raunchy one at that, he observed, looking at the bare backs of the scantily dressed dancers.

"Someone tried to kill Harry, I guess a few hours before someone tried to burn down the shop."

Blaise had a hand over his eyes, and lifted a finger up to give Draco a pained look. Draco ignored him, however, and swallowed the bile that was stuck in the back of his throat. He blinked slowly, and licked his lips.

"What happened?" he repeated, using a very low and very serious tone of voice. She noticed and sat back in her seat with a speculative gaze.

"I thought you didn't care what happened to Harry. I thought you wanted to see how he would 'do' without you blocking him from Riddle's attacks. What makes you so interested now?"

He seemed to wilt before her, and sharp shame built up in the pit of his stomach and churned. Draco chose to crease his eyebrows at her and try not to growl.

"I've always been interested, okay? I didn't mean what I said. I'm just..."

"Worried," she said, satisfied. "You're worried about someone you lo-"

Draco held up his hands, fast, and waved them around as Blaise sniggered at him. "In my personal space...in my space!"

She rolled her eyes and tossed back her brown locks before continuing. "Alright, you're worried about someone you care about. It's good you admit it. Anyway," she took a sip of her Sangria. "I guess they shot at him as he was crossing to 73rd."

"In broad daylight?" Draco asked disbelievingly. Beside him, Blaise nodded and cracked his knuckles.

"Hermione and I think Riddle's either lost his mind, thinks no one will stop him, or is just a fucking asshole."

Hermione raised and eyebrow, a glittery blue eyelid making itself known from underneath her bushy brows. "B and C cut it I think. He's all cocky now that Draco's out of it. Plus, Tom Riddle is sitting on a lot of money and a lot of contacts." She sighed, heavily. "He's pretty much invincible. I wish we could somehow get enough evidence..."

"Oh no," Blaise snapped suddenly. "No fucking way are we getting involved with this."

Frowning deeply, and very seriously annoyed, Hermione tilted her head. "Why not?"

"Because Riddle's going around shooting at people, that's fucking why!"

"You see!" She shouted, pointing at Blaise as if he were an escaped and dangerous criminal. Draco watched their tiff with a raised brow and unsure posture. "That is exactly why Riddle gets away with what he does! Fear! His power is from fear!"

"And the AK-47 he has shooting holes into my head!" Blaise cried as he gave Hermione an intense, wide-eyed glare. He fished around for his cigarettes at the same time.

"Oh please! I would think the reward of seeing a man like Riddle behind bars would reap the fear right out of you! Besides..." and she exhaled deeply. "It's the right thing to do."

"Yeah, sure." Blaise put a cigarette into his mouth. "Harry thought he was doing the right thing and ended up fucking Draco over and pissing me off."

Hermione raised her nose a bit and pursed her lips to the side. "Well I can sympathize with him."

Draco finally decided to speak up, and it was with fury and little tolerance for what either of them were saying. "He lied to me. He lied about everything, and...I can't sympathize with that."

"Understood," she said sincerely, if not a little blankly. "But the fact of the matter is there's more people involved than Riddle realizes, and when he does he'll either run, or take care of the one's that know about the money."

"So we're pretty much fucked either way," Draco laughed cynically, and took a very long drag of his drink. "Fantastic."

He was forcing down a new emotion, one of hysteria and overpowering worry. He also felt the anger start to rise, but cool once he'd inhaled a little. How dare he go after Harry...

"If only," Hermione decided to repeat morbidly. "Harry could convince the police..."

"He's already fucking tried that," Blaise said, shaking his head. "Unless that was a lie as well."

Tilting her head in contemplation, Hermione bit her lip as she scooted her stool in to let a couple pass. Once she had her bearings back, she shrugged. "You heard what Severus said, the police did show up...and one of the detectives seems to partially believe him."

It didn't assure Draco or Blaise at all, and truly, it looked like they were permanently stuck in between the ongoing feud. Draco was a given, since it was his father that was being accused as an accomplice. The other two had simply become wanted by association as well, and they could find no alternative but to let things smooth out on their own. After nine years, though, it looked as if Riddle would not give up...and neither would the ever stubborn Harry Potter.

The club bounced with energy and spirit, an ironic reflection of the three talking so seriously in the corner. All feeling rather hopeless, they settled for meeting whatever it was that was sure to happen, and dealing with it when it came.

Draco himself could not get the face of his roommate out of his head. He was unwilling to admit that he was worried beyond his usual ability, that different scenarios of Harry lying dead in a ditch somewhere kept flashing through his mind. He was unwilling to admit that he missed waking up to beryl eyes, teasing the vegan mercilessly, walking down the street with purpose-just to see Harry -as he walked through the door of the loft he had come to love. Mostly, Draco missed living.

Tom Riddle did not decided to strike until two days after the incident at Remus' shop. Harry had noticed the cronies following him adamantly the moment he'd stepped out of the door to get groceries. He'd informed Remus with a tiny shrug, that his enemy had decided to release his minions on him, and dog every step Harry took.

He was used to being watched, but the new feeling of just being on the edge of disaster made his stomach turn. Not that he cared much for his own well-being, but if Riddle was desperate enough to assault the innocent bystanders of their little war...well, Harry thought that was rather reckless.

Riddle had always been cautious, and cunning. Perhaps he sensed his own prosecution so close at hand and decided to act? Perhaps he had decided to take out Harry and move to Majorca. Whatever the reason, it made Harry a bit more paranoid, and wary than usual. Along with his conflicting fear and increasing anxiety, Harry had one emotion forefront in his mind those few weeks without Draco Malfoy constantly at his side. Loneliness.

The long empty room that had served as their home the past few months had suddenly fallen silent and blank. With its atmospheric down-turn, Harry had withdrawn himself from most everything except work and his art. Painting after painting lay strewn across the floor boards, each strangely dark and unfeeling. His pieces took on a new style that set to disturb, and being that Harry was known for his more euphoric sense of artistry, it was sure to shock most of his devoted fans.

An absence as great as Draco Malfoy had taken its toll on him without any forewarning. Remus had commented numerous times on his pale complexion and all-around nervousness. Dennis had given up on getting Harry to talk after he'd snapped at the teenager rather rudely one morning. Mrs. Sprout didn't no whether to hug Harry senseless, or smack him upside the head with a shovel.

What was there to do, though, but realize the mistake he'd made? What was there to do but sit in a quiet and lonesome stupor, occasionally painting turmoil and closing his eyes to the sound of the rain drops outside? Nothing lived inside of him, and it scared the anger and fear right out of his conflicted heart. When he really thought about it, he didn't actually have to think, and there...there deep inside of him was a discontent so familiar yet so new to him, that it belated his breathing and kicked him in the gut. There was no one to see him so open, except for dark walls and stormy skies.

At least he could believe, that for one moment in his adult life, he had loved someone just as much as they had loved him. In a strange, unknown way...he had cared beyond the relationship obligations of compassion, self-sacrifice, and understanding. Bold and beautiful, yes it had been...and Harry wanted it back. He wanted a second chance.

"Harry!" startled from his wool-gathering, Harry sat up on the couch and looked toward the door. "Harry I know you're in there! Unlock the door!"

He sighed, knowing that Remus would not settle for a yelled 'go away!', and neither was he immature enough to ignore him. Harry padded over to the door slowly, wearing his paint-stained jeans and a baseball shirt; the sleeves rolled up to his elbow. He swung the door open silently, and leaned against it.

"Remus?"

The botanist pushed past him irritably, an angry spark running through his expression before he took in the state of Harry and the loft. "Don't you ever clean this place up?"

Harry, bewildered, started to look around with a frown on his face. "It's clean! What do you mean?"

Remus almost tripped over one of his canvases, and had to kick the tarp underneath the coffee table in order to get to the couch. Harry shut the door and walked over to join him.

"Your art..." and to prove that it was indeed everywhere, he took out a canvas from underneath the cushions and examined it. "Harry...it's breathtaking."

"Look at the other ones," Harry said, waving a hand around the room. "They're all the same. It feels like I'm painting one large and never ending piece, rather than separate ones." He plopped down next to his boss and ran a hand through his hair. "Each one...I can't seem to find the...you know...in it."

"No," Remus frowned, wrinkle lines in between his eyebrows showing. "I don't know."

Harry stared at him curiously, and tilted his head forwards, gesticulating with his hands as if it explained everything. "The, you know. The thing that makes each piece different. Makes it worth looking at."

Comprehension seemed to dawn on Remus' features, and he smiled. "Oh, like the 'ah ha' at the twist of a movie."

Harry, likewise, leaned back and grinned. "Exactly."

"Now that I've gotten somewhere with that," Remus suddenly said, putting the canvas down. "I'm shooting for something else. How are you doing?"

The question wasn't awkward in the slightest, and it sounded sincere coming from Remus, but it made Harry feel uncomfortable. Remus seemed to notice by the constant shifting and fidgeting Harry had suddenly taken on.

"Alright. I just saw you this morning..."

"We were busy this morning," he said, brushing it off. "I hardly had time to speak with you. All those summer weddings coming up...I dread Mrs. Sprout when the stress settles in."

"I remember the September weddings had her panties in a knot. I can only guess..."

Remus hadn't wanted to change the subject, and he dove back into his little interrogation rather bluntly. "Anyway," he said, rudely. "You're not doing okay, so don't try to lie to me. Have you at least tried finding him?"

"He's at Blaise's apartment, you already told me, and no, I won't try to contact him."

Shifting a little on the couch, Remus stared, "Why not?"

"Too much of a hassle. I've got stuff to finish," he waved a hand at the paintings absently.

Remus grimaced. "I'm sure. Listen, why don't you just give him a call? You miss..."

"I don't miss him!" Harry objected quickly and loudly.

"...each other, no doubt." Remus sighed a bit dramatically. "You could try, Harry, really. You two were rarely without the other when you were...together. Harry...you did love him though. Just admit it."

"And you think that will help me? That it will help either of us?"

Harry turned away from him then, tired of 'Draco' talk and unwilling to examine his loneliness any further. Way back when, he would have been happy to drown in his misery. Though living with the ever present threat of Riddle and being occasionally on the streets with junkies and perverts had distracted him enough not to think about it. When he did, however, he'd let the self-pity soak into him naturally. Now, he just wanted to forget.

"I think you'd feel better, and he would. Maybe he's wanting you to call. Maybe he's waiting for you to do something."

He wasn't used to that. Harry had always been the pursued, never the pursuer...but with Draco that had changed a bit. It had been Harry that had leaned across his seat in the car those months ago, initiating a kiss that had continued on to something more. Something passionate and unique and dangerous for the both of them. Always, there was someone after him, and he had never willingly sought out the company of others.

"I'm not like that," he confessed, tiredly. "I don't go to people. They have to come to me."

Remus seemed to realize he was voicing his thoughts honestly, and raised both of his eyebrows. "Well that has to stop. Sometimes you need to suck it up and do something. What happens if the person you're wanting to come to you is waiting for you to come to them?"

"Then it doesn't work out."

His friend made a discontented sound in the back of his throat, and shook his head. "You're giving up a lot that way."

Remus wouldn't settle, apparently, until he said exactly what he wanted to say. He leaned sideways to get something out from his pocket, and dropped a folded piece of paper onto the cushion next to him. "There's Blaise's number...if you decide..."

Granting it a glance for only half a second, Harry decided to ignore the paper with a passion, getting up and starting towards the kitchen. He offered Remus a drink, but the botanist declined. Taking a water bottle from the refrigerator, he unscrewed the top and looked at the empty confines of the fridge sadly. He hadn't been eating much.

"Anyway," Remus said again, and there was an unsatisfied look on his face. "When's your next show?"

"Two weeks from now. It's on Coney."

"Island? You don't like boats."

Harry shrugged. "I'll deal with it."

Remus watched him as he trotted back and sat down on the coffee table, stretching his long legs out on the couch...quite a contrary pose. "I saw your name in the paper," he decided to comment.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Apparently you've gotten extremely popular in the art world."

Harry grinned then; a very open look. He was rather proud of his work, even though he thought it was crap most of the time, he was generally pleased with the reception he was getting for it. People at the show a week ago had said to him that his paintings hung above their dinner table, that they were a novelty...that he was a Warhol incarnate. He had blushed embarrassingly at their praise, and hated to think about it lest the red in his face come back with a vengeance.

"It's a hassle joining their social elite. They sort of claimed me...without my consent, mind you." Harry shook his shaggy black hair. "Oliver thinks it's hilarious. He introduced me to a guy named Krum the other day. All posh and pompous like he's worth something."

"Well isn't he?" Remus asked, laughing.

"Of course not. We're all pretty small in the scheme of things, but this guy...he's a real self-important asshole. He's supposed to be our link to Europe where I'm supposedly having a show next year. Him and his french girlfriend..."

"French?"

Harry leaned back onto the table, knocking a few things over before spreading out on top of it. "You got me. Pretty...but too artsy."

Pretending to put his feet on top of Harry's chest before the artist pushed them off laughingly, Remus grinned and raised an eyebrow. "I'm going to ignore that you were checking out a girl, and ask what you mean by too artsy."

He gave Harry a once over to prove him point.

"First of all, I wasn't checking her out, I can say that she was pretty just because I'm gay," he frowned then. "Kind of like when a straight person says, 'I'd be gay for them', but they aren't really gay."

Remus shook his head, and smiled. "Whatever you say."

"Anyway, what I mean by too artsy...it's too noticeable that she's trying to be artsy. She's fake. I don't like fake people."

They'd ventured in dangerous territory there, and both knew it. Harry knew Remus wanted to say something about him being fake and not admitting that he wanted Draco back...needed Draco back.. Everything came back down to it, Harry noticed wryly, anyone and everything reminded him. It was tiring.

"The paper said you were 'New York's finest artist' and then something about climbing the art hierarchy at a record-breaking time."

"I told you, they adopted me like some kind of pet. It's ridiculous."

"Don't act like you're not flattered," Remus teased.

"It's a good thing Riddle knows I'm here, at least," said Harry offhandedly, and he shifted back into sitting position. "I wouldn't have let them do that article on me otherwise."

He was sure the media would have done it regardless, and Harry wondered at the price of fame.

"Well I'm proud of you," Remus suddenly said, clapping in on the shoulder and getting up. "For what it's worth."

There was no mocking, as Harry expected, rather, his friend was his usual sincere self as he gave Harry a nod and that usual smile of his.

"I better go check on Dennis and Mrs. Sprout. You're lucky your shift is over, it's a mad house down there."

"Need some help?" Harry offered, but Remus shook his head.

"You work too much. Try and get some sleep for once."

There was no point in saying he couldn't sleep, so he sat silently and watched Remus show himself out. At the last moment, his friend turned around with the door in his hand, "Oh, can you do a favor for me?"

Harry nodded without thinking about it. "Go down to the store and get some groceries. You look half-starved."

The door shut as Remus laughed at Harry's expression and the artist was tempted to throw a pillow childishly. Harry leaned back on the coffee table, turning his face to look at the couch and then around the studio. The loft really was a mess, and though there wasn't any of the standard pizza boxes and potato chip wrappers that was expected from someone like, say, Blaise...it was enough for Harry to be angry at himself for the clutter.

He decided, belatedly, that it was time to shape up, and though he didn't move from his sprawled out position on the table, he settled for going out and getting some food. He spared the folded piece of paper an angry glance, before turning his head away from it, and sighing.

"Zabini-Granger residence, how may I help you?"

Blaise got a glare from Hermione for answering the phone that way, every single time, and he grinned back at where she was applying her make-up.

"Blaise?"

Now that voice was enough to shock him into blinking rapidly, and nearly dropping the phone. He hadn't expected the call, and he gestured to Hermione wildly as she looked on, interested, her eyeliner half way towards her eyeball.

"Harry."

He knew his tone was more rude than formal, and he resolved to sound as impassive as possible. Harry seemed to hesitate slightly, and Blaise mouthed 'Harry' in regards to his girlfriend's curious look. She looked shocked, her mouth falling open comically, before she vaulted up from her seat and stood beside him.

"Listen...is Draco there?"

"He's asking for Draco," he whispered to Hermione, his hand over the mouth piece. She looked distressed, and shrugged.

"He's not here," he said into the phone, truthfully. "He's gone out for some lunch with Pansy..."

Immediately, he realized his mistake, and beside him Hermione moved her arms frantically to get him to stop. "I mean..." he faltered, and replaced his hand so that Harry wouldn't hear. "Fuck!"

"Oh," and there was a desolation in Harry's voice that suddenly made Blaise feel guilty. Hermione reached out to take the phone from him, and he shifted away and tried to elbow her.

"I can leave a message, if you like," Blaise said, a bit remorsefully.

"Oh no," Harry haltingly responded. "That's alright. I guess...I'll just call back later."

They both knew Harry wouldn't call back ever. "That's fine," but Hermione finally managed to wrestle the phone away from him.

"Harry, it's Hermione. Blaise's girlfriend."

There was silence. "Oh, yeah, hi."

Hermione didn't have a close relationship with Harry, verily, but decided to go on anyway. "Draco just went out to discuss his father with her, he should be back soon...if you want I can give him a number to call."

"No, that's okay," said Harry, and Hermione listened to his baritone voice waver. "I'll just call again," this time he was more sure of himself. "You don't need to tell him I called."

She was not going to let Harry think that Draco wouldn't get wind of this, if anything it would perk the blond up a bit, if not make him cocky as hell.

"No, I will. He'll be glad you called. How have you been, anyway?"

It was odd asking that to a guy she hardly knew, but the simple fact that she liked him seemed to make up for it. She glanced at Blaise, who rolled his eyes and put his head in his hand.

"Um...all right I guess," he said, unsure.

"When's your next opening?"

"Two weeks. Coney Island...you guys should...go."

Obviously, Harry was sure that she would say no and claim that Harry was no friend of theirs. It was all in the way he spoke, and she desperately wanted to reassure him. "Of course. We wouldn't miss it."

Blaise was gesturing 'no' at her, and she slapped him on the arm to keep him quiet. "I'm sure Draco would like to go as well."

The silence on the other end was awkward this time, and she bit her lip. "Yeah...I guess. Listen, I have to go. I'll just call back."

"I'll tell him you called," she said cheerfully, and heard Harry sigh.

"Yeah, okay. Thanks."

"Bye."

When she hung up, Blaise pounced at her. "I can't believe you did that! 'How are you?' 'I'm sure Draco would like to go!' 'I'll tell him you called!' What the shit?"

She pushed down the hem of her shirt and looked at him through lidded eyes. "Well I thought it was quite tactful."

"Tactful? Hermione, you can't just go fixing this for them!"

Looking offended, she swallowed and raised her chin. "Why not? It needs fixing. Draco's incredibly unhappy, and judging by Harry's completely forlorn attitude, I'd say he's unhappy as well."

"Still," and Blaise shook his head. "You should leave it up to them."

"Sometimes," she said to Blaise with surety. "You need to give people a little shove in the right direction."

Blaise thought she had done more than shove, more like pushed...into oncoming traffic, but wouldn't say so for fear of that infamous slap she used to keep him in line. Draco had gotten another call from Pansy, and had accepted the invitation reluctantly. She was his only connection to the goings-on of his father and Madison and David, so he'd decided to take advantage of it and learn from her when it was all clear to make an appearance. Blaise was no help, since everyone at work ignored him anyway.

Harry had sounded rather upset though, that dulcet voice making it hard to be too mad at him. Blaise sighed, opting to stay out of Hermione's way while she got ready to go, and went outside to smoke a cigarette. The sun was starting to go down, and he couldn't wait for daylight savings when he would get to enjoy the afternoon a bit more. Draco had been gone for quite a while, but it was no surprise.

Thoughtfully, he went over the conversation and cursed his loose tongue once again. Why had he mentioned Pansy? He wasn't that stupid...usually, and he ran a hand through his air, agitated. He only hoped that Hermione was right, and that Draco really would be happy that Harry had called. He would have to beg her not to mention his little mistake.

He'd been walking, quite calmly, minding his own business, and he would hold to that, to a fault. After his conversation with Blaise, Harry had needed to get out no matter the cost, and his long strides down the street had been fast with desperation. Busses passed him, groaning as they admitted a dirty cloud of smoke. He crossed each street and walked each block in a daze, forbidding himself to think.

Not that his brain was all that much inclined to follow directions, and soon he was torturously reliving the traumatic conversation once more. Pansy? Draco had gone back to...Pansy? He refused to believe it, even though all evidence pointed toward Draco running back to his old fiancé. Harry knew it meant he'd screwed up big time.

The ache in his chest would not leave him alone. It pulsed beneath his shirt and moved along with the steps he took toward where ever the hell he chose to go. The grocery store had been his destination, but now...now he just wanted to run, and run far away. Denial shredded through his consciousness, and he decided that Draco really was just seeing Pansy because of his father, for no other reason but that. He had to believe it, or really, there would be nothing keeping him there.

He would confess that he liked being back in New York. He liked the people he grew to know and befriend, and didn't want to leave. The urge to run was very different than willingly going away. When he'd disappeared before...it had been without thought. He hadn't even really realized it until he'd returned and angry faces and questioningly suspicious friends had demanded to know where he was. He had figured it was none of their business, and his defensive demeanor had not won over their misgivings.

Recently, ever since Draco had decided guilt suited Harry well, he'd been mad at himself for the stunts he'd pulled. Running away without a word...leaving Cedric; whom he'd thought quite a lot about recently. What made him think he could break hearts just as easily as Draco did? Was he that arrogant to think that he was untouchable? Unable to return feeling because his beautiful face was sculpted like a statue...and just as cold?

Perhaps he could leave and plead that he needed to do some soul-searching. That thought he'd tossed out right away, since he was more than happy to stay where he was and search to his heart's desire. Draco made finding himself not all that hard, and god, god he wanted him back. No use now, his traitorous heart said, you've lost him.

But Harry would not believe it. He would not give up until they were content as something other than what they were now. The silence between them was suffocating, and Harry hated it.

He had been walking, calmly but slightly frantically, still minding his own business when he'd turned down an alley way and had a rather abrupt and startling surprise. The trash can next to him, for he was in an alley much like the one he'd been in when he was chased into a corner, was hit with something that boomed against his ears like a loud speaker. It was knocked over and dented, and Harry dove behind the nearest dumpster.

His backpack slammed against his side as he hit the wall and crouched down. Another shot grazed the spot above his head, and he heard it hit a window pain and shatter the wood. In quick succession, three booms blasted into the metal of the dumpster and putting holes its exterior. Harry ducked again, a little scared, until he heard a tenor voice suddenly call out.

"Stop."

The silence in the alley way was deafening, but Harry didn't dare look up.

"You can come out Harry, I would only like to speak with you."

Harry scoffed in disbelief, knowing Riddle could hear him. "And that's why you're shooting at me. I guessed as much," and then below his breath, "asshole."

"Unload."

He heard the clips drop to the sidewalk, two, three, and frowned. "Does that suit you? Come out and face me, I would only like to speak with you," Riddle repeated.

Harry was not going to wait there like a coward, and decided if Riddle was going to kill him then he would stand up and get it over with. Not without a fight, his pride protested, and he silently agreed.

Riddle was standing with three goons behind him, and Harry recognized them as Mulciber, Goyle, and Crabbe...his little guard dogs that had made an attempt on Harry's life numerous times. They hated him, naturally, just as Detective Kingsley nursed his sore ego after Harry had outrun him.

"Well?" he asked bluntly, and Riddle grimaced.

"Always so reckless. I apologize for the dramatics of my men, they decided to get your attention with a little target practice."

Harry smirked. "They're going to need some more, I don't think they even came close to hitting me."

Riddle made like he was inspecting the dents and holes the gunshots had caused, and then grimaced. "You're quite right," and he gave Mulciber (for he was closest) a reproachful glare. "But enough of this. I would like to discuss a possible truce."

He's scared, Harry thought fleetingly, or tired of the war before the battle. Coward. He switched his weight and gave the man a patient stare, before grinning. "And why would I do that?"

"Because I know enough about you to hit where it hurts," Riddle sighed dramatically. "It's rather trite, but true. You can destroy my possessions all that you want, but I can truly, what was the phrase? Oh yes, fight dirty."

"You've always fought dirty, and I don't know why you don't ever have an alarm system on your car."

Riddle looked impatient and unimpressed. "I do. You deactivated it."

Harry mockingly thought for a moment, and then grinned wolfishly. "Oh yeah, I guess I did."

Inside, he was wondering frantically what Riddle was trying to pull. No way would he be asking for a peace treaty with so much at stake. He knew well of Harry's hatred for him, and the offer had been offered only once, and the adamant refusal (and punch to the jaw) was enough to convince Riddle that an armistice wouldn't be possible.

The threat...that alarmed him. "I could have completely demolished that quaint flower shop, but I didn't Harry..." Riddle said, somehow sensing his understanding. "I could have taken care of the little Malfoy heir when I realized he knew, but I didn't. I can be merciful."

Despite his panic, Harry laughed with hilarity. "What is this? Can you be any more egotistical?"

The guards behind him twitched, and Harry's amusement rose. "Possibly, but what I say has struck a chord, hasn't it?"

It had, admittedly, and Harry felt the grin slide off of his face. "You want...the book."

"And the letters, and most importantly...I want the money."

Harry knew full well that his business income wasn't doing well ever since Tonks had convinced the bureau to look into Madison and David, but decided to take a jab anyway. "Don't you have enough?"

"It had better be all there, as well. It would be a pain to have to hold that druggie friend of yours responsible."

Harry's heart went cold, and he forgot to breathe. How had he...?

"Yes, I know about your accomplice. I must admit you hid him well, I'm sure he doesn't even know how well. Only visiting him when it was possible, not telling anyone that it was him you disappeared to see. Very clever, but not clever enough."

"Stay away from him," Harry said forcefully, shaking.

"You see more concerned with that screw up rather than your little boyfriend," the man commented curiously.

"Draco can take care of himself. His absence would alarm people...you get rid of him, you buy your own ticket to jail. Same with Remus, people would notice."

"But it scares you that I could take away what you care deeply for," and there was a very self-satisfied grin on Riddle's face. "Really, your best friend is a liability, a junkie...I'd be doing him a favor."

"Stay the fuck away from him or I swear Riddle..."

He wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to Seamus. It would be his fault, and his heart jarred at the thought. Suddenly, a truce didn't sound all that bad.

"Now, now, Harry, we mustn't result to violence," and he smirked at his guards, who laughed mockingly. "All you have to do is open that backpack of yours and give me what I want. All this can end, and your friends will be safe from big bad Tom Riddle."

He tossed his head, his dark hair moving away from his eyes and revealing his handsome face. People didn't generally think Tom a bad person, not until they were as familiar with his ways as Harry was, and Harry resented every tiny movement and expression about Riddle in that moment. He hated, with a passion, and wanted so badly not to give in.

"Can I think about it?"

The words had come out before he could stop them, and there was a shocked silence from the four, before they laughed. Riddle wiped a fake tear from his eye and grinned. "Well of course you can, I owe you that much."

Harry thought that Riddle owed him his soul, and maybe a house in Malibu, but held his tongue. "But don't wait too long," the man said, and made a half turn toward the street. "I am not inclined to having to buy any more extremely expensive cars."

It would be an extremely bad time to accuse Riddle of polluting enough already, and then telling him to car pool, so Harry bit his lip and waited until they would leave.

"Oh," and in a dark reflection of Remus' turn around that morning, he smiled back at Harry. "I trust you've heard of Draco and Pansy Parkinson's engagement. Rather fast after such a...harsh...break up, don't you think?"

He left then, and Harry's chest nearly burst out of his body. Watching them go, the pain began to climb from his heart to his throat, tingling his fingertips until his hands clenched into fists. He gave the trash can next to him a furious kick, and then strode off...groceries forgotten.

When he got back to the loft, Remus was closing, and he made to brush past the man without a word. It worked, but only barely, and with a mutter about the store not being open, Harry practically ran upstairs. He wasn't able to properly bang his head against the door until it was closed, and then he sprinted to the phone and dialed Seamus' number. Harry had to make sure he was all right, and when Seamus' voice answered a little drunkenly, Harry felt a relief more strong then he had ever felt.

"Seamus I need you to do something for me," Harry breathed into the receiver. "I need you to disappear for awhile. Just...go back to Rhode Island and see your aunt."

Seamus was drunk, or high, or both, because none of what Harry was saying could process through Seamus' mind. He asked why repeatedly, and Harry said again, "Please, just do it, for me. Riddle knows you're involved. Seam, please."

There were voices and music in the background that were distracting him, and Harry tried without hope to get his friend's attention. "Don't worry about the money, I've got the account number and I'll take care of it. Take a little in the morning and then leave..." but it was useless, and after the line had gone silent for long enough that Harry could assume Seamus was gone, he hung up.

Panic seized him, and he blinked furiously against frustrated tears. He didn't know what to do. Giving up to Riddle would mean that all he'd gone through was a joke, that he'd fought for his parents and lost. He silently cursed those that hadn't believed him, for the people that couldn't see behind that innocently successful mask Riddle wore. Mostly, he cursed his parents for leaving him so devastatingly alone.

And Draco. Jesus, Harry thought, and he sat down on the couch heavily. So it was true, and though he knew Riddle would only say those words to hurt...he had suspected. Maybe if Blaise hadn't of said they were together that afternoon, Harry wouldn't have been worried, and brushed it off as a comment meant to hurt. God, did it hurt, and it was no one's fault but his. He reminded himself again of what he'd done...he hated himself and Riddle and the situation. Harry leaned back against the couch and put a shaking hand over his eyes.

He didn't know how long he sat there and thought, but dawn had come and he remembered drifting off and waking up with his muscles taut and his head aching. Harry had come to one conclusion while laying like a vegetable the entire night, and he didn't like it one bit. He would have to go to Lucius Malfoy.


	30. The Art of an Apology

A long time ago, Harry used to believe in justice. His mother and father had always told him, that comeuppance would come to those who deserved it; whether from human or divine intervention. He lost faith when they died, and never told anyone what he had believed before, lest the humiliation and loss sink in ever further.

When Harry did finally give up on thoughts of some supreme power-holding his life like a burning matchstick- it was a very abrupt and surprising occurrence. He had been nine, and suddenly, without any gentle warning or lingering smell of his mother's perfume; he was alone.

For close to ten years, he had fought for the justice that was not given to him, something he had been denied of for too long. Fate had done jack shit to reimburse the trials he had gone through, and Harry had taken it upon himself to seek revenge in the only way he could. Every means of information was taken advantage of, and no one was safe from Harry's relentless and overpowering sense of duty.

His parents had been wonderful people; intelligent, kind, attentive, and though work at Madison and David had moved them away from their son countless times, Harry never faulted them for it. Sometimes, when he could bear at least a small thought of them-for most of his recollections were painful-Harry was resentful of their leaving him and not coming back. Always, they would go on a business trip or outing-one of posh and sophisticated aristocracy-but come back home to him, bearing hugs and gifts to fill in the temporary hole they had created.

Harry would think sometimes, but as of late, he was having trouble wallowing in any self-pity at all. His parents, without any admonition, had suddenly been put on the back-burner. Every conviction that he had stubbornly held onto for the past nine years had no place in his mind as he gazed up at the tall and intimidating glass building that was Madison and David.

He didn't know if he was ready to give up. He didn't know if he could. A part of him still screamed for righteousness, screamed to fight and fight until he could fight no more...and the other part of him, the traitorous part...wished only for the safety of his friends and those he considered family. Harry would not see Seamus dead, that much was certain, and if that meant giving up the only evidence he had against Tom Riddle. He would do it. He would do it in a heartbeat.

Another selfish part of him knew that in giving up he would get something back. There was a possibility...a hope...that with his surrender he would make amends. A small bit of his soul pleaded for this one chance...if only he could have one thing to make him happy, even if he didn't receive his much needed and desired revenge. Please, he begged, let me at least have Draco.

He had won the blond over once before, and maybe...just maybe he would be willing to leave Pansy and give him a second chance. Just one little chance to start over and make things right.

But it was too small of a hope to really hold much merit. He was struck dumb suddenly, at being trapped. He had no choice really, no alternative other than raising his war-torn white flag and calling it quits. If he continued egging Riddle on, the man would resort to drastic measures, and no longer was he hell bent on getting rid of just Harry. If he went to Riddle and admitted defeat, the man would surely kill him anyway, and there was no telling what he would do to ensure the silence of those who knew Harry and what he had been involved in.

More importantly, Harry had come closer to the people he'd met in the dredges of New York City. He pictured the kindness bestowed upon him, and the friendship, and wondered how he could have ever considered putting them in danger. Harry had worked hard not to become too attached to any of his previous friends, but suddenly, he'd stayed longer in one place and come to appreciate the companionship he'd received. A vital mistake, surely, but one he would not take back given the chance.

His last act of defiance would be to place the books in the hands of Lucius Malfoy. He was helping the devil's advocate, but it was a hell of a lot better then going to Satan himself and submitting so desperately. His heart forbade him to, and so he had found himself climbing the steps to the infamous firm and looking so out of place it was a wonder he wasn't escorted off of the premises.

Suits passed, all casting him brief and suspicious looks. They had reason to, since Harry himself was walking right into enemy headquarters and seemingly so nervous he was shaking. He imagined he looked pale and drawn from his not eating or sleeping much. The black sweater and paint stained clothes can't have done much to reassure them either. Harry would go as he was, however, because it took enough courage for him to even be there without his anxiety over what he was wearing.

Madison and David hadn't changed much, a few renovations here and there had it looking as new as it was back when it had first opened its lobby. Harry had a brief moment of nostalgia where he could faintly hear the sounds of fake laughter and big shots talking business. He despised it. He despised every bit of it.

These people...they lived without breathing and thought without thinking. They hadn't seen what Harry had seen, hadn't experienced the reckless inconsistency of being on the streets and interacting with real and true people. They hadn't seen dead bodies of their friends or been fatally deceived by a would-be partner.

They hadn't held a person so far gone that their sobs weren't really sobs, and they hadn't known the feeling of looking for stability and never finding it because they didn't have enough luck to hold them through. Yet, they still had the gall to look at him with disgust and indifference, and when it all came down to it, in the end...they still had it better.

Where was the faith his mother had instilled in him so very long ago? Where was his break? Were some people meant to be happy and others barely content? Harry thought, that in his last moments, staring at Riddle's pistol and that infernal smirk, he would know the truth of things and accept that he was the side of the human race that didn't ever get comeuppance. That was never truly happy.

He couldn't blame it on bad luck, because he was lucky to have even survived this long. As dramatic as it was, Harry had lived with the constant threat of Tom Riddle enough to know how serious the man had suddenly gotten. Their game was coming to an end, and Harry was losing fast, and hard.

Every inch of him screamed to turn around and think of a better idea. But what else was there to do? Seamus...and Harry suddenly stopped in front of the elevator and swallowed. He would get through this, he would let go, he would save his hopeless friend from something other than self destruction and he would get Draco back. His last rebellion, however insipid and minuscule, would ensure that he had never properly succumbed to his one great enemy.

The bottons on the elevator seemed to be mocking him, lighting up one by one at a startlingly slow pace. With his backpack slung over his shoulder, and a resigned look on his face, Harry met the hallway of Lucius' office with astounding calm. Inside, he was playing out the various reactions he was bound to get by dear Lucius when he gave over the book. He pictured the look on his face and sniggered maliciously, as he stepped toward the secretary's desk with an imperious expression that said he belonged there. Years of dealing with cops had taught him an array of characters to play.

Millie seemed to be on the phone and hurriedly taking down a message. She nodded her head furiously into the receiver, before remembering she needed to speak and blurted out a nervous, "yes sir." He didn't think he'd ever met Millie before, so he fancied he didn't have to worry about her calling Riddle the moment he turned his back. She glanced up at him a bit warily, and he smiled that smile.

Two seconds later the receiver was down with a click, and she was staring up at him with a shy grin. "Can I help you, sir?"

Harry adopted his best expression of sheepishness and pointed toward the doors to Lucius' office, his foot a half a step forward. "Is Uncle Lucius in?"

Her face seemed to pale a bit and her eyebrows scrunched together. "Uh...Uncle Lucius?"

"Oh god, sorry," and he smiled as if he'd forgotten something and was very ashamed. "I call him uncle. He's an old friend of my parents'."

"Oh, how sweet!" Millie simpered, and then smiled with glossed lips. "He's in right now, would you like me to announce you?"

Harry briefly wondered at Lucius' employees, and pictured an assassin turning on the charm and Millie asking if he'd like to be announced. What a buzz-kill that no one had murdered him yet.

"No that's all right," he forced a happy grin. "I haven't seen him in so long, I want to surprise him...but, only if he isn't busy...?"

She rolled her eyes playfully and twisted a pen cap in between her fingers, "No appointments until in about an hour. Trust me, you're fine."

Thankful that the conversation was coming to a close, Harry smiled at her benignly and made his way through the automatic doors. The office inside was long, and a desk was at the far end of the room where Lucius sat with a telephone to his ear. The entire place was elaborately decorated in a sort of modern city-like design. Harry looked at the ugly paintings and nearly snorted. Carpet lined the way toward Lucius' desk, where two leather seats were placed in front of him along with a shiny glass table. A large spider plant sat in the corner, wilting sadly from neglect.

Harry wondered why he was so surprised that Lucius would treat a plant that way, he was after all...a vicious man. Not to mention the leather seats that Harry glared at with sympathy and disbelief. Stupid...rich...butchers! In his moments of observation, and a tangent of some of the worst insults he'd ever come up with, Lucius managed to finish his conversation and look up at his visitor.

With raw disappointment, Harry commiserated that he should have asked Blaise to come equipped with a camera, just to capture the look on Lucius Malfoy's face. Harry also noticed the abrupt shock change to suspicion...and then to fury. Unsurpassable, biting, stingy fury...and it felt as those silver eyes could melt his skin right off.

Suddenly all nervousness and the small amount of scorn Harry had held for the office interior was gone, and their rage combined was almost tangible. A heavy weight settled over Harry's chest, and he breathed in deeply. This was dangerous...and Lucius had an expression on his face that promised pain, and retribution. It made him feel disgusted and irate, and more importantly, it made Harry feel ashamed. He damned Malfoy to hell as he squared his shoulders and raised his chin.

"I have a proposition to make."

"Oh," Lucius said archly, and stood tall and imposing. "I would say it took you long enough, but then that would be rude. Please," and he opened a palm to the seat in front of his desk, a bit mockingly. "Sit."

Harry switched his weight and looked at the ground, mumbling, "I'll stand, thanks."

"Suit yourself," and he smoothed down his pants before resting on his chair calmly; one leg over the other. "Now, let's hear this long anticipated 'proposition' of yours. I'm sure it will be quite enlightening."

"I would like to start," Harry snapped forcefully. "If you weren't being a snarky asshole."

Lucius raised an amused eyebrow and smirked. "Well, why don't you take your business elsewhere then, Mr. Potter."

He made to push the speaker button on his desk, no doubt calling for security, when Harry stepped forward and raised a hand in defense. "Wait!" he said quickly. "I'm...sorry. Look, there's no reason we can't be civilized..."

Looking for all the world like a cat that had gotten its milk, Lucius leaned back once more and gazed at Harry knowingly. He nodded quite obligingly.

Harry ran an awkward hand through his hair and glanced at the floor. He sighed, and took a seat, but not without grimacing.

"First," he said when Lucius remained quiet. "I'd like to...say, um...well..."

Lucius was still staring at him, and he looked away quickly, swallowing. "I'm sorry. About the misconception, that-" Harry cursed himself.

Waiting patiently, the man in front of his nervous and fidgeting body leveled him with a glare. "A misconception...quite right. Though do not be so arrogant to assume you are the only one to make a mistake, Mr. Potter."

Lucius turned away from him for a moment, revealing a pale neck that was complimented by a blue and grey collar and tie. "There are many people at fault in this, and though you were too stubborn to come to me sooner...your reasons are...understood."

Harry couldn't tell whether he was happy about that or not, and he chose to bite his lip and shrug a smidgen. "For what it's worth," he swallowed. "I just wanted to, well, you know-"

"In a desperate attempt to silence your inarticulate babbling, I'll say apology accepted."

Even though he had said it nonchalantly, as if Harry were nothing more to be bothered with, the hatred was still there in his eyes and the way his posture stiffened ever so often. Knowing he would receive no forgiveness from the man when it came to his crimes against his son, he settled for placing his backpack on his lap. He stared at it for a short time, looking at the worn threads and paint-covered pockets.

His constant companion had been that backpack, and for close to five years he'd always had it by him and trusted it with its contents. The same contents that were the soul reason he felt every bit of discomfort, loneliness and fear he'd ever had to go through. It was the reason things had gone wrong. Slowly, hesitantly, he unzipped the pack and reached a hand inside. A moment later, the letters, the book, and a tiny piece of paper slid onto Lucius' desk resignedly.

Lucius did not look at them, rather, he was staring away and out of the window. His eyes were wide, though, and it looked as if he were biting the inside of his mouth. Finally, that impeccably intimidating stare punctured him, straight as an arrow, and then traveled down to the book.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Harry half-expected Lucius' voice to croak, but it was smooth as usual, if not a little strained.

Harry looked down at his lap, his hands full of the empty backpack that he placed back at his feet slowly. He was almost swept away by the sorrow of it all, and wondered just as Lucius did...if he knew what he was doing.

"Yes," and it was with surety as he looked back up. "I know what I'm doing. I know you'll destroy that book the moment I leave, and hand all the money to Riddle. I know he'll burn those letters and continue to embezzle from this company. I know. I'm not stupid."

But his last admission didn't have any heart in it, and Harry said those words as if he really did know he was stupid, but felt obligated to deny it. He rubbed the back of his neck and stared at his feet, trying desperately to ignore the ache in his chest and eyes. He looked back up.

"Do what you want with it. The paper," he pointed to it casually, "has the account number and written permission to extract the money. The book is there, as well as all of the letters. You can search me if you want."

"That won't be necessary." Surprisingly, Lucius leaned forward and gave him a speculative glare, "You do realize you're giving up everything you've ever fought for, in regards to your parents' murder..." and he raised an eyebrow. "All that running and hiding...what for Mr. Potter?"

"Please," In a dangerous moment of openness, Harry closed his eyes in obvious emotional pain. "Just leave it. Take it and let it be over."

"He will still hunt you, I trust you know," Lucius got up and went to the mantle behind him, pouring himself a dry scotch. Harry watched his movements warily. "It is like a game to him, and he knows all of your best moves. Judging by what we've seen before," he took a sharp drink of the alcohol and inhaled, "the next thing you'll do is run."

Harry remained silent, and Lucius filled up his glass again, raising the drink to him in question; he refused. Much too early to be drinking.

"It would have been better if you had given the book to me in the first place," Harry made to object, but Lucius raised a hand. "But as I said, I understand your reluctance to converse with, well, someone like me."

He glanced away from that glare and bit his tongue. "I know what he'll do. I know what I'm giving up...but...there's too much at stake now."

"And there wasn't before?" Lucius asked, interested. "Tell me what changed. I want to hear exactly what crumbled that resolve of yours."

Unwilling to be so very personal with a man like Lucius Malfoy, Harry looked out of the window and swallowed nervously. "Nothing."

Lucius drained the rest of his drink and finally stopped staring at him. He leaned over his desk and slid the book toward himself, along with the letter and account number. It was all there, all authentic, and Harry could see a strange glint in Lucius' eye. Harry closed his eyes and sighed.

"If that's all," he said, getting up and swinging his backpack onto his shoulder. The man did not look at him, but seemed to be studying the book with his knees locked, standing much taller than Harry, one finger on the tip of the book, and a scotch in the other hand.

"Mr. Potter," and he looked back at Lucius, warily noticing the extremely hard set of his jaw and that cold gaze fixed on the desk in front of him. "You have done more than enough damage to my son. I would ask you to let him alone."

Harry nearly flinched, and that rushing pain made his chest ache furiously and his eyes nearly close. Lucius had made his point, and he wouldn't wait around for another slam to his self-esteem.

He turned away, "Mr. Potter," and turned back, biting back an angry and hurt retort.

Lucius gazed at him now, a frown on his face that spoke of anger, dislike, but...perhaps acceptance. "Do you happen to know why your mother decided to go on that trip with your father...before they died?"

Completely taken aback, Harry scowled and shifted his backpack. "Well, I guess because they didn't know they were going...to...you know."

It was a lie. Harry had heard from a number of people that his parents had been fully aware of the risk. It was part of the reason Harry was so fucked up.

"They knew," and Lucius placed his glass down and looked at him; really looked at him. "They knew the danger of getting involved and they knew that Riddle planned on killing your father the moment they reached Albany."

"But he didn't, he ran them off of the road, and..." Harry stopped, and the ache in his chest was back. "Why did they go then?"

"Your father went because he was smart enough to realize it was inevitable. Your mother however, went because she loved her husband. You were too young to notice, but..." there was a strange look on Lucius' face. "They were strong-willed, but infinitely devoted to each other."

Harry saw a hint of disgust in the man's posture and in his curling lip, and bit back a sardonic grin.

"At first, however," Lucius continued. "There was the matter of protecting you. They did that well. Your mother would not let your father leave without her, you must know, but before it became rather...serious...he confided in your mother and she ceased all ties with your father, and left, taking you with her."

Blinking in surprise, Harry frowned and shook his head a bit. "I don't-"

But he remembered, vaguely, when he had not seen his dad for less than a week, and his mother had cried quite a bit. He hadn't understood...still didn't understand.

"Fear is a surprisingly strong motivator," Lucius continued wryly, and placed both hands on the back of the chair. "She came back, however, once the reality set in, as it always does. As most people always regret when they realize what they've missed. Good chances are hard to come by, and your parents knew that, so they stayed with each other."

Lucius gave him another long and highly amused look. "People are really quite predictable."

Harry made to object, but suddenly realized he was being teased. Teased! By Lucius Malfoy? Was there ecstacy in that scotch?

The man nodded to him then, a clear dismissal, and Harry took his backpack and walked out (though he couldn't help but cast a lingering glance at the book on Lucius' desk). Confused, he headed out to the lobby and managed to give Millie a smile. What on earth had Malfoy meant? So what...? His parents had loved each other, well, I certainly fucking hope so, he thought a little bitterly.

Still trying to figure out the conversation he had just had, Harry walked out of the building and back onto the sidewalk, the nearly weightless pack on his shoulder making him feel intensely horrible. Would his parents hate him for giving up? Would they condemn him for loving a friend and not wanting him hurt? But they must know, just as Harry knew deep down inside, that the real reason for his surrender was one last shot at getting Draco Malfoy back.

Perhaps they would think him weak for falling in love and letting his main objective slide away, with the deluded fantasy that he could be loved just as strongly in return. Harry thought it was pathetic, and knew that Lucius was right. It was over, and Draco was done with him just as he was done in an entirely different way. Tom Riddle would kill him now, without the book to protect him, and he had very little time to get Seamus out of the line of fire before the bullets would begin to fly in earnest.

He was scared, not necessarily of death, but scared of leaving something unfinished behind. When he'd thought about giving up the book all the way through, his plan had been to go to Draco immediately after and tell him he'd stopped. Tell him the coast was clear and he would do anything to get the blond back. But Lucius had been right, he'd done enough damage, and there was still more to be done.

"He will still hunt you, I trust you know," Lucius got up and went to the mantle behind him, pouring himself a dry scotch. Harry watched his movements warily. "It is like a game to him, and he knows all of your best moves. Judging by what we've seen before," he took a sharp drink of the alcohol and inhaled, "the next thing you'll do is run."

Harry knew the next thing he would do is take Seamus, and run. Run from the whole entire mess and wait for Riddle to find him and kill him. He wasn't angry, not at Madison and David that would stand tall as he would be gunned down like the pathetic person he was...not at Draco or his father. He was only sad, and completely aware of how hard it would be from then on. Seamus would need to be taken care of. There would be no money...no food...no home...and being murdered swiftly and indifferently started sounding better than a life back out on the streets.

Not to say Harry didn't have some money, and quite a few friends that would be more than happy to let he and Seamus kick it at their place. It had been risky giving those books away...but the people at stake were far too valuable in Harry's eyes than for him to needlessly throw them away and into the middle of his and Riddle's war.

Draco's observation about Harry being just as ruthless as Riddle didn't seem at all right in that moment. In fact, that one choice split their souls and likenesses as if they were cutting through a patch of silk.

Harry had given up. Lucius had told him to leave Draco alone, to wait for Draco to come to him, and that he approved...because Harry's parents had shared the same infatuation that he and Draco shared. He hadn't understood the inadvertent apology that Lucius Malfoy was trying to convey to him. Harry could comprehend no subtleties with anxiety pulling his nerves taut. He needed to get Seamus...and leave New York once and for all.

Blaise felt as if he were forgetting something very important. The haze of drowsiness would not let him form any sort of rational thought, and he briefly considered giving up before it hit him like a ton of bricks. He hadn't told Draco, yet! Fuck! Blaise sat up in bed, jostling Hermione in her sleep who grunted out a complaint.

He remembered playing his gameboy that night, and Hermione telling him she was going to bed. Most of all, he remembered her reminding him to tell Draco that Harry had called before going to sleep. He'd been so caught up with that stupid sixth level that wouldn't let him pass without defeating a giant mutant frog that he'd forgotten. He vaulted up from his laying position and searched around for a shirt.

Once he was at least covered to preserve Draco's virgin eyes, he padded out into the living room after grimacing at the creaking bedroom door. Draco was sleeping rather calmly on his side, not particularly caring in his unconsciousness that his naked back was showing, or that the sheets were tangled around his legs. Blaise considered shoving him off of the couch, until he remembered the reaction he'd gotten way back when his best friend had nearly mauled him for waking him up in a disorderly manner. No, that wasn't an option.

He considered dousing Draco in water, because it would be enough to shock him so that he couldn't make a bodily movement toward Blaise, and decided it was the best idea he could come up within a short amount of time. He ended up flicking bits of water on him, quietly repeating, "Draco? Draco? It's raining, motherfucker."

Finally, after what seemed like hours, one gray eye looked at him with post-slumber bloodlust.

"Now, now, Draco. Don't be mad."

Draco looked at the travel alarm clock on the coffee table and then back at Blaise in disbelief."It's three in the fucking morning."

He noticed the nimbleness of Draco's legs and new that the blond could be up in a matter of seconds and pummel him. Blaise backed away and smiled nervously.

"Um...yeah. I forgot to tell you earlier. Harry called."

The effect was instantaneous. Draco sat up as if someone had lit a lighter under his ass and looked at his best friend more seriously than he ever had in his life. "He called?" and then he sat even straighter. "When?"

Blaise was unable to help himself, and he smirked. "For someone who's 'over him', you seem incredibly excited." He then looked mildly disturbed and frowned, "I know it's orgasmic, but you can touch yourself later."

"Cut the crap, Blaise!" Draco said loudly, but then glanced toward the bedroom door where Hermione was sleeping and rolled his eyes. "When did he call?"

Taking another step back, he contemplated Draco's irritated posture and grinned uncomfortably. "Um, earlier today. I meant to tell you, but...you know."

Apparently Draco did know, because he waved off Blaise's comment with no struggle. He placed his hands flat on his knees and leaned forward, thinking. "What did he say, exactly?"

Looking more than a little reluctant to expand, Blaise gave Draco a careful once over. He didn't want to get involved but it looked as if he would have to no matter what he did. He just knew Hermione would give him that smug smile of hers; glad he was helping his friend out...risking his life was more like it. Blaise had never been self-sacrificing, though it looked like he would have to start now.

"He just wanted to talk to you, really," and a yawn tore from his throat, involuntarily. "Told me not to tell you he'd called, but I did anyway," he smirked.

"Yeah," deep in thought, Draco put his head in his hand and blinked. "That all he said?"

"Sure, but he did seem awfully disappointed that you weren't there."

Draco seemed to perk up at that, and he gave Blaise a sly grin in return to the one he was getting. "He did, did he..." and then seemed disconcerted, and angry. "Well, you know, that's not really my problem."

Abruptly Blaise understood what Hermione had been talking about, and he glanced heavenward for some help. This was ridiculous.

"Fucking shit," he gave up trying to stand and plopped down on the sofa opposite Draco. "This is a bunch of A class bullshit!"

"Do you want to wake your girlfriend?" Draco admonished, casting a look at the bedroom door. "I like my balls, thank you. I think they're quite nice."

Blaise tossed his head back and forth and rolled his eyes, grinning. "I'm sure Harry does too. Why don't you kiss and make up so he can reacquaint himself?"

"You obviously don't understand the circumstances," he said, ignoring Blaise's crude commentary.

"Let me see," he responded sarcastically. "Oh yeah, you're too fucking stubborn, and he's got a maniac after him who's pretty much obsessed with killing him. Not to mention his horribly syndicated past and your self-denial that stems from being raised as a prejudiced bastard."

"Would you shut up for a second?"

"Why? So you can deny everything I just said and make me feel stupid? No dice, motherfucker."

He seemed to be unusually articulate in the bare hours of the morning, and vowed to wake up earlier. Blaise also wished Hermione was up to see him sounding so smart. Any pride he once had for his rather insightful speech suddenly went down the drain when Draco laughed.

"Yeah, I probably would deny it. I want to make up with him...I'm sort of...over it."

"In an over it break up way, or an over it make up way?"

Draco looked at his hands. "In an over it 'I-don't-want-this-to-bug-me-anymore-so-let's-start-over' kind of way."

"Sounds phenomenal. When do we start?"

Draco contemplated that for a second, and then scowled. "I guess I'll have to call him back," and he laid down, mirroring the shrink-patient cliche. Blaise noticed it and shook his head.

"Let's do it!" he hopped up and headed toward the phone. "Wait," he stopped. "It's three in the fucking morning."

"No shit," Draco frowned, and glanced warily at the receiver in his friend's hand. "He'll be awake, though. He's always awake."

Dialing the number he'd written down earlier, he thumbed the numbers in and gestured for Draco to take the phone. "Are you sure you want to make up with a vampire? I love the nightlife too, but necrophilia is bad for your health."

Draco got up reluctantly, quickly losing patience as he expression changed from nervous to angry. "Give me the fucking phone."

"Hey, whatever flips your dick," he shrugged, and handed it to him.

One ring, two rings. Three. No answer. The voice mail came on and Draco cursed and hung up. "He's not answering."

"Maybe he's out making a baby blended smoothie?"

"He doesn't eat babies, vegan remember? Knock it off, already." The joke sufficiently became a dying corpse, and Draco rubbed his hand through his hair and sighed. "Why wouldn't he answer? He's always awake..."

What if something had happened? Draco's mind was supplying a number of images that disturbed and worried him. Had someone gotten to Harry? Had he left again? Draco was beginning to panic.

"I'm sure he's fine. Probably asleep like every other sane person in New York on a," Blaise turned to look at the calender hanging above the sink, "Tuesday morning."

"Which explains why you're awake," and Draco dropped back down onto the couch. "Thanks a lot for telling me though," he said offhandedly.

Blaise translated that as 'thanks for nothing' in Draco speak. "Yeah, I guess you're not going to leave a message?'

"And call again? That makes me seem..."

"Desperate?" Blaise supplied.

"To put it bluntly, yeah."

"Don't know what that means," and he waved a hand at his best friend, "but I'll take that as a no and say buenos noches."

He tottered back to the bedroom just as Draco turned over, obviously thinking about the elusive artist. Blaise sighed and looked at the clock, hoping against hope that Hermione wouldn't wake up to interrogate him. Deep inside, however, he knew he'd done right by Draco that night, and stepping up felt oddly...surreal. Maybe he could get used to the...maturity thing...though he was no neanderthal when it came to being serious.

Blaise was quite serious about Hermione, about the current drama, and his 'Crotch Fire' obsession. It was nice going to bed and feeling as if he'd done something productive. It figures it would only be at three in the fucking morning.

When Harry got back to the loft, a place he'd started to unintentionally call home before the Draco debacle, it was afternoon and cool outside. Public transit had allowed him to think without paying attention to a meter, and he held his empty backpack close to his chest as the bus roared past Manhattan. Remus was talking to a bunch of customers as he arrived, and he walked forward a bit nervously.

Severus had come back from Kenya and had spent a considerable amount of time with Remus. He was almost always seen hanging around the shop, and Harry grew rather tired of his presence after a while. In respect for his employer, he bit his tongue and greeted the man with pleasant civility. The botanist was nowhere to be found that day, however, and Harry let the relief wash through him. He didn't think he could handle those all-knowing eyes boring into him accusingly.

"Hey, where you been?" Remus asked, smiling at him. Dennis was off for spring break and was sitting behind the counter looking morose.

"Had some errands to run, I'm sorry."

"No worries," he said, waving a hand. "You helped me more than enough yesterday."

"But you're paying me to be here, not to run off and..." Harry was cut off as Remus gave a disgruntled glance toward Dennis.

"I pay him, and all he does is eat my food and complain."

"I shit in your toilet too," Dennis supplied jeeringly, swinging back and forth in the chair and staring at the ceiling.

A laugh tore from Remus' throat, and he jutted a thumb at the teenager. "They grow up so fast. He's already a sarcastic bastard."

Harry swallowed. "I think he always was. Remus, listen..." but a customer cut them off as she asked about a new shipment of organic compost. Looking away, Harry shifted anxiously and glanced at Dennis, who was staring at him. He realized he was hugging his empty backpack still, and dropped it to hang loosely at his side.

"How's the art going?"

"Art?" Of course, the show coming up, and he cringed inside at having to leave the city.

"The opening, shithead," said Dennis grinning. He sat up fully and raised both eyebrows. "You okay?"

He wasn't about to explain his cowardice to a teenager with a sharp tongue, and neither (he suddenly realized) was he able to tell Remus that he was leaving. "Yeah," he lied. "I'm fine."

Walking up the stairs was trying, and it made his head ache. He unlocked the door to the loft and shut it behind him, looking around with a worried frown. He supposed he could just leave his paintings there, and morbidly, he wondered if Remus would be able to sell them when the man understood that Harry wouldn't be coming back.

It was such a depressing thought that he sat down on the couch and simply stared. He would have to settle for grabbing whatever would fit in his bag, and started putting things in it quickly. He packed away his brushes and paints, leaving his CD's since he really didn't need them, grabbed his tee-shirts and two pairs of jeans and undergarments. His toothbrush went in the front pocket, his wallet stuffed at the bottom...if he didn't think about it, he could imagine he was just going to visit Seamus and would be back in a week or so. He'd packed his things so many times it was practically automatic. He took one of his favorite books and left the rest.

Just so that the room wouldn't look too cluttered, Harry stacked his finished paintings against the wall and picked up the dishes and blankets, stowing his mattress underneath the staircase leading to the roof. When it was all finished, he glanced around to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything important, and walked out of the room.

Getting past Remus would be hard, but he thought he could manage. His descent was more difficult than going up the stairs, and he shook his hair out of his face and walked across the shop.

"Harry?"

Knowing that tone and being more than aware what it meant, he turned and stared at Remus from across counter. He backed up a step, two, three, four, until he was a comfortable distance away from the man and close to the door. Dennis must have left to do something for his boss, because he was nowhere in sight. Harry looked at Remus silently.

It was enough. Remus understood and yet, there was a worried and pensive frown on his face, as he bit his lip and glanced away from Harry for a moment, and then back. He made to say something, though no words came from his mouth. A clench of his jaw, a noticeable swallow, and the botanist looked away-sufficiently giving Harry enough time to step out of the shop and close the door with finality.

Harry walked off briskly, not looking back, and strode to the nearest bus stop to wait. He closed his eyes against the sun and rubbed his neck, deciding suddenly with manic restlessness that he would walk. He took one step after the other, never slowing down or quickening his pace, and far behind him the loft grew distant and unrecognizable.

Remus Lupin did the only thing that made sense when Harry left. He panicked. When Dennis had gotten back with the pots, he'd asked him to watch the counter and then shot off to the back. The phone was in his hands and he was dialing faster than he had ever dialed before. It rang two times before Severus picked up on his cell, and he would have breathed a sigh of relief if he hadn't of been so eager to get the information out.

"Harry's left," he said quickly. "I don't think he'll be back."

Severus seemed to be thinking over the phone, and Remus could practically hear the wheels turning. "Did he say where he was going?"

"No," he ran a hand through his hair. "No, he just gave me a, well, a look."

"Are you sure he's not just going to go get something trivial, perhaps? Or maybe mope about how sorry his life has turned out..."

"No," Remus interrupted, and shook his head, cheek tight against the receiver. "I don't know what to do. Should I tell the police? I know Harry knows a few detectives..."

"I'm sure Mr. Potter knows the entire NYPD by now, but I really don't think that would be...prudent."

Propping his hip against the counter, Remus frowned. "I don't know how to help him."

There was silence on the other end, though he could hear Severus breathing and the sounds of traffic in the background. "Severus?" he reminded the man impatiently, and there was the sound of him taking a breath.

"I don't think you can help him now, Remus."

What did that mean? The air left him and he clutched at the phone so tight it was almost painful, and glanced around the kitchen. "You want me to let Harry run away, just like that?"

"He's going to do whatever he likes, I'm supposing," said Severus, and there was a pause. "Lucius contacted me today. About an hour ago, actually."

Remus didn't know what Severus was trying to tell him, and he gestured silently to the empty room, impatient. "Yes?"

"Potter went to see him this morning. Apparently he decided the risk wasn't worth it, and gave the evidence to Lucius."

A gasp unwillingly tore from his throat, and he stood stock still beside the sink. Harry had...wow. Remus wanted to know what had scared him so much that he would let go of the one strong hope that had caused him so much trouble for so long. It seemed so...sad, that Harry would hand over his life to someone like Lucius Malfoy. Someone who would no doubt destroy the evidence and leave Lily and James Potter to rest without a reason for dying.

What had Harry been thinking? Obviously, Remus scolded himself, he'd hoped that Draco would come back to him if the evidence was out of the picture. He was no fool, he knew Harry was a mess without the stupid blond, and that together they made waves but somewhat pleasant ones. He couldn't understand what the matter was with young people these days, and he shook his head at Harry's recklessness.

"That's...unbelievable." Blaise's voice flashed through his head and he smirked mordantly. Un-fucking-believable.

"Yes, Lucius was quite surprised. It seems his son had a larger influence on the boy then he thought."

Remus recognized the reluctant admission in Severus' tone, and he acknowledged that it would have been very hard for the man to accept that Harry wasn't a bad person as well. It was quite obvious now, that the manipulation had been skewed and overdramatized. Remus didn't blame Lucius for being a protective parent, provided, but then the utmost hatred for the man flashed through his mind. He was going to destroy everything Harry had ever worked for, and that was unforgivable.

"They are both being ridiculous. But what's going to happen? We can't just let this go. We can't just let Riddle get away..."

"Don't get in the middle of this," Severus asserted forcefully. "Please don't go to the police or make yourself known. Riddle is just as rash as Potter, and now they've created an entirely too convoluted mess."

Balking at the thought of staying quiet, Remus adopted an irritated tone. "We could say something. We could help. Besides, I don't like Harry being out there right now..."

"Then you should have stopped him," snapped Severus. "But you didn't know the circumstances, and now it is too late. Stay out of it."

"Harry could be hurt..."

"He will be hurt."

Remus scowled furiously. "Then you can bet I'll say something then. I won't let it slide if that kid is shot up over this."

"Mr. Potter knows how to take care of himself. Judging on how long he's lasted...I can imagine he's rather hard to kill." Severus' dry speech did nothing to soothe his anger. "Please," a more worried, begging delivery, "just stay out of it and you'll be fine."

A thought occurred to him then, and he smirked into the phone and placed a hand on the counter, leaning against it so he could breathe better. "We should help Harry. If Riddle gets him then that means he'll try to get rid of all the people that know about his little scandal."

"Which is exactly why you should stay out of it!" The dial tone met his response, and he gritted his teeth and hung up.

Well, I should have seen that coming, Remus tapped his fingers on the marble and glared at the floor. He didn't think he'd be able to live with himself if he stayed silent. If Harry was...well...taken care of, Remus wouldn't hesitate to go straight to Detective Tonks. Riddle hadn't taken into account their information on the subject either. No doubt the man knew that Harry had been trying to win over the law since the enquiry at Madison and David. He must know that there were some law enforcement officers that knew of the murder and embezzlement.

It would therefore be highly reckless of the man to kill Harry. Money could buy silence, and Remus knew that without the good-side's leader, there would be no morale and the case would drop. There would be no payoffs and indifference from him, and Remus glared at the phone. He would not stay out of it, and he would not remain idle while people were getting killed over something as worthless as money.

He only hoped Harry would be okay, and stay safe. Remus resolved to wait for Harry to call him, to look in the loft and get some idea of where he would have gone. It was too bad Harry had left before he could answer Draco's call the next day, and by then Remus had gone to bed but had not lost his will to somehow help the cause. Maybe he would be able to motivate Harry to keep fighting and they would clear up this 'convoluted mess' once and for all.

Seamus' apartment looked as dilapidated as always, and Harry noticed the increase of trash surrounding the graffiti-covered walls. He moved his backpack from one shoulder to the other and pushed open the building doors. The slip-slap of his sneakers against the tile was irritating him, and he shuffled up the stairs quickly. He walked past an open door of an apartment on Seamus' floor, catching a glimpse of a man trying to fix a television set with the cacophony of yelling in the background.

There was a lawn chair in the middle of the hallway, and he swerved around it and arrived in front of the apartment door. It was unlocked, as it usually was whether Seamus was home or not, and he pushed on the worn wood with a slightly sweaty palm. He stepped inside, moving a box with his foot and nearly tripping over the cord that led to the ugly lamp Harry had gotten a few years back.

He closed the door behind him and set his backpack down, grimacing at the dirtied state of the carpet. Harry shrugged off his jacket and walked over to the closet, noticing the TV already out and on, but crackling loudly. He brought out the vacuum and turned the set off, listening for his friend as he shut the closet door. "Seamus!" he called, and then cursed as he abandoned his task to walk over to the couch.

On the table there were numerous wrappers and cans, a few beer bottles scattered around and laundry on the floor. He grimaced, hoping his friend would be able to pack up his things and clean house before they skipped town. Harry didn't want to have to deal with Seamus' rude landlord, so they would have to leave the apartment as clean as possible lest they get charged for any damages. Especially that hole in the wall and the scorched tiles in the kitchen.

"Seamus! Did you even get my message? I said I was coming over!" he called out, a bit impatiently, and gathered up the junk. He straightened and glanced around, looking toward the bedroom. He reached for the stuff on the coffee table again, and suddenly froze.

The tip of an aluminum can sat in the corner, the last dredges of the brown liquid stuck to its edges, and lying seemingly harmless next to it was a syringe and a length of rubber. Harry drew his hand away quickly, and dropped the cans and papers back onto the table.

He strode down the hall and took a look into the kitchen. "Seamus?" he yelled rather frantically, and stole toward the bedroom. The door was open, and the sole window in the apartment let a breeze fly through, drying the sweat on his brow and shooting rays of sun about the room.

A strangled sound came out of his throat involuntarily, and he practically sprinted to where his friend lay. Seamus was sprawled half in the bathroom and half out, and Harry was almost afraid to touch him, but managed to turn him over with a little difficulty. Seamus' lips and gone blue, and the tee-shirt he was wearing was covered in sweat. Harry took a glance at his arm, which was red and swollen from what was most likely an infected needle.

"Seamus? Seam?! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Harry tapped his cheek and then resulted in shaking his friend bodily, but received no response.

He checked for a pulse, but his shaking fingers could barely hear anything but his own ragged breathing. Seamus wasn't breathing. He got back to his feet and looked around the room, running his hands through the bed sheets to find the phone. The night stand didn't have it, and neither was it under the bed. Harry ran out of the room and checked the kitchen, knocking cups and utensils to the floor. Finally, after what seemed like a long and hellish eternity, he grasped the phone in his hands and dialed 911.

The dispatcher asked him a series of questions that he could barely comprehend, and he listened to the instructions with half of his mind intact. With the assurance that an ambulance would be on the way, he tried his best to do as the dispatcher had said. Rubbing his knuckles on Seamus' chest, he listened for any sign of life and began CPR. Nothing was working, however, and the cold hands and blue fingernails were starting to scare him.

"Seamus? Seam, goddamn it, come on." Harry was startled to discover tears in his eyes, and he stopped trying to resuscitate Seamus and buried his head in his hands. It was his fault...he was sorry, so sorry, and he found himself saying it aloud and cursing up a storm. Seamus' still body only made him panic more, choking him as he shook his friend's shoulders. His litany of apologies went unheard as he waited for help to arrive.


	31. On Hope

Every time Harry found himself in a hospital, which was a disturbing amount of times really, he thought it was depressing and extremely irritating. St. Jude's Emergency Medical Center was as much as a turn-off as any of the others Harry had been to, if not even more so. It was located in the seedy side of Queens, full of gunshot victims and screaming children. Not that there were always the same dramatics twenty-four hours a day, but he had already spent the afternoon and night in the place, observing the melodrama enough to know.

The person currently sitting next to him was bleeding all over the floor, a shallow cut down his right hand and a cigarette in the other. They nodded to each other, Harry's eyebrows scrunched lightly in concern, before they both went back to their equally morbid thoughts. The light above him was flickering, and the receptionist seemed used to it enough to ignore the complaints. Harry didn't have quite a good grasp on Spanish enough to understand what the family behind him sounded so worried about. They were all very alike in that regard, and he buried his hands in his hair and felt like crying.

There had been no word since early evening when a doctor had addressed him somewhat absent-mindedly. Seamus was in a temporary state of comatose, having taken a toxic amount of hard drugs and infecting his blood stream with bacteria. There was a chance of disease, infection, and possible death, but at the present moment (the doctor had said) he will need help so that situation need not arise.

Harry had flinched when he had listened to the diagnoses, and that infernal prickling behind his eyes was back again. It was no near as hard as having to wait for word on his friend, and by the time he had been informed of Seamus' condition, his head was killing him.

Smoke drifted from the man's cigarette in white puffy clouds, and Harry glanced at it in the pain of his headache and suddenly the cancer stick started to look good. He knew he was delusional then, but the words of the doctor were ransacking his mind and replacing his thoughts with its own essence . . . brutally. Mercilessly. We only worry that when we release Mr. Finnigan, he will fall into the same habits. Harry had tried to reassure him that he would take care of Seamus from then on. Mostly, Harry was trying to reassure himself, and in the end it hadn't mattered anyway because the doctor clearly didn't believe him. He had simply grunted and strode back down the sterile white hall.

Harry supposed he wasn't the most reliable person, and didn't particularly look like a responsible young adult, but it still jarred the aching in his chest and made him look down in shame. It had been a long time since someone had trusted him, and he was mad at himself for being surprised that the doctor had thought Harry a liar . . . a flake . . . possibly even an enabler.

It some horrible way, he believed that the mistakes he had made in the past could have been prevented had he been less selfish. Many people had thoughts like Harry's, and he knew it, but it didn't make his guilt cool. He was the master of harboring ill-feelings toward himself and others, and he was prepared to regret what he had done to his friends and lovers for the rest of his life.

A cleared throat brought him out of his musings, and he looked to where the receptionist was sitting. She reminded the people in the waiting room that visiting hours were over, and they would have to stay somewhere else. Harry's heart had pounded terribly when she'd said that, but it quickly resumed its placid pace when she excluded the family members and intensive care waiters from the purging. He was thankful, and a bit sad. If she had asked him to leave, he wouldn't have anywhere to go . . . and there was no way he was about to leave Seamus alone.

Maybe everything would have been all right if he still had the loft to go home to, and Harry realized never before had he felt such an attachment to a place. Maybe if he had the familiar weight of the book in his backpack, or the reassurance he could return to Draco and fight with him, this entire episode wouldn't be that hard to contend with. He didn't have any of it anymore, however, and the sense of loss was more than he could bare.

Seamus would need medical attention for the next few days, as well as a proper rehabilitation center lined up, to keep the narcotics officers off their backs. But that was only if Harry survived long enough to see it through, and the chances were that Seamus would be left on his own. The chances were that Harry would simply fade away as another murder in the seedy side of Queens. The thought was so depressing that Harry buried his face in his hands and very nearly cried.

It had turned out a useless move in giving the evidence to Lucius Malfoy. No doubt the letters had met the paper shredder. And the leather bound accounting book? A roaring fire, and cheers all around. He tried not to think about how happy Riddle was at the moment, and failed miserably. He got up and walked over to the vending machine and started digging around for change. His bangs were ruffled from where his fingers had grasped them forcefully, and he looked at his bedraggled appearance in the reflection of the machine. Harry rested his head against it; the vision of the creamy white room still imprinted on his eyes. The soft patter of overly sweet coffee spraying into the cup woke him, and he blinked heavily as he grasped its comforting warmth.

He had no way of knowing if Draco had heard about the books or not, but he knew that it had been a dumb idea even if the blond had. Harry had gone over the conversation he'd had with Lucius thousands of times already, and he found that he got the gist of what the man had said. The acceptance of his relationship with his son was a surprise. Maybe, though, if there were a small chance of Draco forgiving him . . . the victory would have been sweeter. In that, he knew there was no hope.

Harry missed Remus, and Dennis, and the loft. He missed them because there was no going back . . . no second glances. His future now looked bleak and considerably more dangerous than it had ever been. Harry was scared and disappointed. Blaming Seamus was wrong and spiteful, and he would never do so and didn't plan to. The worry he had for his friend was all-encompassing, and as he sat back down and cradled a miserable cup of coffee in his hands-Harry felt hopeless.

Even though nothing advantageous had come out of giving up his revenge, he supposed he was happy it would finally be over. He still planned on fighting until his last breath, until those extremely painful bullets hit him with terrible finality. And though death would be an inconvenient sort of thing; he was ready for it if it should come knocking on his door. Which, since Harry knew Tom Riddle and his ways very well, it undoubtedly would.

Tom was unpredictable, sly, and arrogant. That handsome face put people off and inspired them at the same time. He had a fancy for two-colored shoes and expensive ties. The smell of his cigarettes, cloves, made him noticeable by scent before his inevitable appearance. Harry always knew that aroma; it was the scent of disaster. Infinitely manipulative, Tom had once been brilliant and intoxicating. Money and power had granted him an unhealthy amount of insanity. He would have made a great leader of a bohemian genocide . . .

A city man, more inclined to pomp and circumstance than street talk, and he was never one to be ignored. A classic egalitarian view with only one superior, and that just happened to be himself. Hello Mr. Riddle, meet the rest of the world.

Harry would have found him inspiring if he wasn't such a prejudiced bastard. Sometimes in the secrets of his own mind, he commended Riddle on bringing out a side of his psyche that could only be described as maliciously devious. Most of the time, however, Harry hated being like that frustratingly persistent man. They were alike in more ways than one though; that much could not be denied. Both refused to conform, both lit up a room when they entered it (so fast lights exploded and people caught on fire) and both were incredibly and infuriatingly stubborn.

Tom had grown up in an orphanage, ironically enough, and in his early teens he had been the lowest on the totem pole. So then, why would he discriminate and despise others for living a life of mediocrity and poverty? Because he had enough money to say whatever the fuck he wanted.

It had never started that way, though, and Tom's life and character had changed over time. He had been the sort of person no one trusted, and his mother . . . well, a name like street scum was too nice for her. Both mother and father were dead, and Harry often speculated that Tom had an odd fetish for fucking up people's lives enough that they resembled his own. Hey, the more the merrier he supposed. The likenesses between them were so disturbing and hard to digest, that Harry usually refrained from thinking about them.

It seemed no small weight would lessen the pressure that day, and the hospital grew quieter as the time drifted away to night. The coffee wasn't doing anything for him, and the constant noise and epileptic light show was giving Harry one hell of a headache. Those without the blessing of insurance pled their need for medical attention to the receptionist, and Harry frowned heavily through the pulsing in his eyes. It grew cold in the building, and he bundled up his sweater and kicked his backpack away from him.

Once the coffee had run out, and he'd adequately run his mind to its breaking point, he closed his eyes for a moment and let the drowsiness wash over him. He decided to lie down on his side and hug himself against the chill, gazing out at the now empty and silent waiting room. As Harry drifted off, the soft sounds of the hospital soothed his aching body, and he lost himself in dreams.

Severus was growing tired of the constant arguing, and he resolved to tell them so once they'd shut up long enough for him to get a word in. Draco seemed intent on condemning Blaise for something or another, and Blaise seemed intent on condemning Draco for blaming him. All and all, it was a cruel cycle, a web of lies, and both boys were getting on Severus' nerves.

He had been obligated to have lunch with the two, since Remus had asserted that they deserved to know what was going on. Severus, however, was perfectly content to let them speculate . . . if it meant not dealing with their pointless altercations for an hour.

They were at Le Banquet, Narcissa's favorite restaurant to go for lunch, and while the food was rare and tasty, Severus found the company sorely lacking.

"I never told him you were seeing Pansy. Why the fuck would I do that?"

"Your girlfriend told me you'd said as much. And that you're a dumb ass. It's proof enough and I know very well you're one asshole short of a fucker."

"You're a fucker. I said you were having lunch. Don't shit bricks on me because I was being honest."

Severus sighed.

"Honest? What the hell do you know about honesty?"

Blaise flicked the ash off of his cigarette in irritation, and leaned forward. "Lots you stupid . . . "

"Remember the time you told me my dad had died in an accident and my mom was in a coma in the hospital?!"

"Hey man," Blaise said defensively. "Gullible isn't in the thesaurus."

"It's dictionary you fucking retard!"

People were starting to stare, well-endowed people who wanted to sit and enjoy their lunch. "I'm begging you . . . " Severus suddenly interrupted them. "Be silent."

Had either of the two boys been standing, they would have abruptly taken a seat at the power and warning in Severus' voice. He could have simply resorted to saying, "sit" and they would have sat. Roll over. Play dead.

"I think it would be prudent if you two focused for a moment and discussed the situation at hand."

"Situation?" Draco said, crossing his arms over his blue and silver blazer. "He told Harry the wrong information," and he jutted a thumb at Blaise, who blew smoke in Draco's general direction. "And now I can't get an apology from Harry because he thinks I've run off with Pansy."

Tilting his glass to mirror the nod of his head, Severus' eyebrows rose considerably. "Then you plan on making up with Mr. Potter?"

Draco looked at him as if he were crazy, and made a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat. "He gave the book to my bastard father! Of course I'm considering getting back together . . . if only to piss dear old dad off."

They all knew Draco was lying. He wanted Harry for Harry and that was that.

"Then perhaps," Severus suggested, wryly. "You should not be in contact with Ms. Parkinson."

"Well it doesn't matter, does it? This shithead . . . "

"That's enough," he said before Blaise could object. "I know that you want to . . . ah, clear the air with Mr. Potter, but you must be prepared to give up your social status, shall we say."

He tried to put it as carefully as possible, and judging on the frown that crossed Draco's face; he understood quite clearly. Blaise however, was more than a little lost. Big surprise.

"He means Harry and I are going to have to go away," Draco explained, still staring at Severus who was sipping his wine calmly.

"Like, run away together? Like a bad musical movie where just before the main characters make a break for it, something tragic happens to keep them in the original setting so that the conflict can be resolved?"

In a desperate attempt to grasp what Blaise had just said, both of his lunch companions simply stared. Draco blinked, and then shook his head. "What the hell was that all about?"

Blaise shrugged, playing with the plastic umbrella in his drink. "Film school. You remember, Draco."

"What?" he gave his best friend a dirty look. "You went for an hour on the first day and left because they wouldn't let you smoke in the classrooms!"

"And what a dumb ass rule, too." Draco and Severus watched him recline in his seat, taking a very long drag of his smoke. "I don't like no smoking signs. They're offensive."

Somehow, the waiter seemed to realize they needed a little distraction to get back on topic, and their food arrived suddenly. "Now," Severus chose this as a good time to have some serious words, as he leaned back and placed the napkin on his thigh. "I suggest you leave Mr. Potter be, Draco, and act like you could care less in regards to his fate."

He held up a hand as Draco made to protest. "I am very aware of your attachment to him. I am simply asking you to play the part of an angry and unforgiving lover."

Draco suddenly glared at Blaise, who had quite obviously delivered a quick and painful kick to his shin. "Which," Severus finally concluded dryly. "I'm sure you'll accomplish quite well."

"You want me to protect myself at Harry's expense, is that it?"

"Very astute of you, Draco. Yes."

"I won't do it," he said waspishly, sitting back and looking at Severus with an air of defiance. "And if Riddle touches him, I'm going straight to the cops."

They were interrupted, once more, by Blaise's elaborate impression of a police siren. Draco stared at his friend and then back at his godfather. His eyes told him that there would be no more argument about Draco keeping his tail between his legs, and Severus wanted to sigh, or shake the two boys thoroughly. They could obviously not see that the strategy was purely for their protection, and not a slam against Potter.

If Severus' suspicions proved correct, he would simply have to keep the two of them out of it (including the ever frustrating Remus) until fate could lend a much needed hand. He knew there was a very real chance that Riddle would strike at those who were informed or had caught onto the embezzlement scam very soon, and Severus could bet from there to Harlem that Mr. Potter would be the first to go. But the logical thing, and logic Severus knew was not either of their fortes, would be to stay out of the line of fire before it got even more hazardous that it already was.

Part of the entire debacle was his fault, and though Severus had never truly held himself responsible for anything (at least not since he was a child), he had felt a shuddering guilt when Lily and James Potter had been killed. It had been by pure and unfortunate chance that he had overheard Riddle speaking quite loudly on the phone about the couple. Severus had distanced himself from the company when Lucius had started it with the man, and occasionally, he would come to visit his friend and his godson. Riddle had bad mouthed the Potters' until ultimately ordering them killed.

The trip to Albany was mentioned, and also the fact that Riddle was in possession of a semi-truck, and two and two had come together for Severus. And yet, he had said nothing.

He didn't know the Potters' personally, but had been to a fair few company parties and met James and his wife. James seemed like an arrogant, intolerable sod that wouldn't stop talking about his brat of a son, and Lily . . . she had been the epitome of beautiful. She, unlike James, did not let her social popularity get the best of her. Severus had pictured her as a soccer mom wearing a cocktail dress, and when she acted the part of the rich socialite, she was all the more natural. Nothing ever touched Lily, it seemed, and it was rather a surprise that she had fallen for such a hot-headed man. James was extremely charming, however, and the attraction between them had been as bright as a clear day in the Sahara.

Together, they were a beautiful couple. With James' easy humor and handsome face, and Lily's presence and those impeccable green eyes that livened the dullest of parties. They had made a being much like them, and it was in the form of their troubled and extraordinarily talented son.

If Severus wasn't well acquainted with the Potters', he was even less cozy with Tom Riddle. Upon first impression, Severus had thought the man clever and comely looking, but never as dangerous as he had proved to be in the years following Lily and James' death. When he had ordered the murder, Severus had believed it to be talk and nothing more. It was highly unlikely, after all, that something as cliche and overly dramatic would be happening at the company he once thought was run by his old friend. It seemed preposterous, and a silly cinematic notion that had made his heart pump with unnecessary fear.

Imagine his surprise and disappointment when he heard that Lily and James had died in a very sudden accident. He found that he could feel as guilty as he wanted, but it couldn't make his silence right, and the first thing he did was go to Lucius and make sure he wasn't silent any longer. Lucius had been highly disturbed and inconvenienced, and had called Riddle immediately for information. He hadn't mentioned Severus overhearing, and hadn't needed to because Riddle had stupidly bragged that James had involved himself in Riddle's assets, and that he had been 'taken care of'.

The letter Lucius had found in the safe where James kept the books had pretty much explained everything. The stupid man had thought Lucius was in on the cozenage, and had robbed Madison and David of eighty-five million. Lucius wasn't an idiot, and he knew exactly where that money was, or more accurately, he knew who would have the stolen currency and the book. Riddle would know as well. The game had begun.

Severus wasn't surprised the Potter's son had fallen into a catch twenty-two. He'd expected it in an unknowingly knowledgeable way. He really wouldn't have cared if he didn't feel as if the entire thing could have been prevented had he spoken up. Lucius himself felt a certain amount of dutiful responsibility for the boy, and they decided to try and get the evidence before Riddle sought the nine-year-old out.

The boy was harder to find then they had thought, and by the time they had located him, it had been too late. James felt it prudent to inform Harry of the situation in a letter, and Riddle chose to threaten him after persuasion had failed. Lucius had therefore only sent a warning that had gone ignored and scorned, but was the first to consequently arrive. Harry Potter had then, officially, been on his own.

Severus glanced at his watch and shook his head; looking over at Draco worriedly. The Potter boy had made the mistake of getting embroiled with Draco, this permitting Lucius' very real indignance. The man was quite predictable to Severus, however, and if his intuition turned out correct . . .

"Well, I'm not talking to him no matter what he says," Draco was partially shouting. "If he can just . . . bend on hand and knee like that . . . to Riddle no less . . . "

Blaise smirked. "You do it as well. You're Harry's bitch fo' sho," he corrected nonchalantly, still wielding his burning cigarette.

"Malfoy's are never bitches."

That comment sent Blaise off in a fit of laughter that could not be stopped, and Draco sent Severus an annoyed glance.

"Malfoy's . . . are never . . . ha, bitches!"

"Can I get you anything else?" said the waitress abruptly, casting odd looks in a Blaise's direction.

Blaise slammed a hand down on the table, still laughing, and smiled widely at her. "Yeah, can I get a bitch with a side of bitch? Hold the Malfoy." He guffawed once more, and Severus shook his head at the disturbed waitress.

"You are such a fucking idiot."

Severus quite agreed with his godson.

As Remus observed the stained glass windows of the loft, he took a careful look around and immediately noticed the paintings. A dozen or so canvases lined the walls, and he shifted through them and sighed. They were extremely dark. A heavy use of charcoal and shadow enveloping each piece with a sense of disquiet. He could see the mood reflected in each portrayal of the ocean, the sky, and the city; all inconsequential to most people who didn't notice what Harry did.

The place was as empty and depressing as it had been before Harry and Draco had moved in. The lived in feeling was gone, and all that seemed to be left were the shallow vestiges of their presence. Draco's infinitely neat room; Harry's messy mattress and empty paint bottles. The smell of the gross steamed vegetables that Harry used to cook no longer lingered, and Draco's expensive cologne was only faint against the gathering scent of musk. A fine layer of dust was collecting on the coffee table, and a noodle wrapper still sat on the counter.

Remus turned on the radio, the soulful sounds of Pavarotti filled the room, and made the loft a little less lonely. He walked around carefully, picking up things and looking at Harry's works with a benign familiarity. The sun cast an array of colors across the floor and walls, and Remus slowly basked in it as he listened to the music accompanied by the sounds of the customers from downstairs.

He missed their being there, always fighting or being terribly romantic, and mostly the laughter they prompted each time they entered a room. Draco singing to Harry in a way that was mocking and yet, sentimental. Harry swatting at Draco in a blatant example of an abusive relationship. He missed them teasing Dennis and shouting at each other from the shop to the loft, endlessly amusing and mocking, but never truly meaning their heated words. In love, and changing like Remus' flowers and Dennis' voice.

Remus missed Harry. The companionship they had built was something he had thought they both cherished, and most of their work time had been full of easy talk and smiles. Harry had learned the trade fast, and had done everything Remus asked of him. It had taken a while for him to get past the formality of it all, but when he had realized it wasn't a regular job . . . the artist had softened and opened up. Part of the trust they had with each other was destroyed when Remus learned of Harry and Madison and David. He had thought they were friendly enough that Harry could tell him mostly anything.

Apparently, he had been wrong. Provided, his employee was allowed to be as mysterious as he wanted, but when it became life threatening and a problem for everyone around him . . . it was serious, and there would have to be some confession time. Remus thought back to Harry's sorrowful face as he talked about his best friend, Seamus. Harry had been in the dark when Seamus had started doing drugs, and Remus wanted to throw it back in Harry's face that he had virtually done the same thing. He had withheld information about himself that was critical, and masochistic. Much like a drug abuser, really.

It had broken up their little family, their trust, just as drugs separated people and made them undependable. Time would heal Remus' hurt faith, however, though if Harry ever came back he would get an earful from all of his friends. Friends. They had become something that could be called true friends, and Remus knew even Harry wouldn't be able to deny it. Not when their worry was so palpable and elicit. No, Harry would not be able to escape their wrath for long.

"Well this place is snazzy," came a voice from the door, and Remus turned with a smile. "A little lonely, though."

"Sirius Black," he walked forward and hugged the man. "How are you?"

Sirius grinned at him, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket as they drew away from each other. "Well, I'm doing well. How are you? You look like death warmed over."

Remus raised both eyebrows.

"Not really," Sirius admitted, tossing his head to the side. "But you do look haggard. What's up, dearest?"

Sighing, Remus looked around the room and paused for a moment. "Where do I start?"

Sensing a long and intricate story at hand, Sirius walked over to the counter and lifted up the coffee pot. "This work?" Remus nodded. "Well, let's hear it then."

Reluctance pitted in the base of Remus' stomach, and he wondered if he should tell his friend the truth. Getting Sirius involved would mean another person on Riddle's shit list. It would also mean back up, because Sirius Black was not one to mess with . . . especially if you tried to hurt something he considered his. Remus resolved to tell him because his mind was on trust at the moment, and he figured Sirius would find out anyway . . .

The coffee helped the story go along a bit smoother, and he expanded a little and told the man his feelings on the state of affairs. Sirius commiserated with him well, and they sat on Harry and Draco's couch and talked for what seemed like hours. It couldn't have been that long, because the sounds from downstairs hadn't abated once while they were chatting. Sirius looked down at his hands, where the empty mug stared back up at him, and then looked apprehensive.

"I know you're not going to like it, but can I just say this?" he asked, testing the waters.

Remus shrugged. "I probably won't. What is it?"

His friend gathered himself and exhaled loudly. "I think you should stay out of it."

Having expected Sirius would say as much, Remus wasn't too angry . . . but only just a little. "Quel surprise. Severus said the same."

"And you don't think his opinion, at least, has any merit?"

Deciding to ignore the 'at least', Remus shifted on the couch and sat sideways to stared at Sirius. "I do. It's logical, and it would probably save me from some inconvenient bullet holes. But I can't stand by and do nothing, and I can't be so selfish as to think I should stand by and do nothing . . . "

"But it's not selfish," Sirius protested, and he moved his body nervously. "It's Harry's problem, and you aren't in the middle of it. Don't put yourself in the middle of it."

"Coming from someone who has his hands deep in some pretty stupid shit . . . " he snapped maliciously, and then fell silent.

For a time, Sirius didn't say anything, and the music rang in his eardrums a bit louder. "Okay," Sirius sighed. "I can understand. If it were me in your position, I would probably be out with a machine gun blowing away the first bastard I could nab."

Remus smiled at that, glad that the air had cleared considerably.

"But coming from the innocent bystander position . . . "

"As if you've ever been an 'innocent bystander'."

Sirius looked heavenward and widened his eyes comically. "I know. A shocker I tell you." He lost his smile for a moment and frowned. "I just want you to be safe, really. This Severus guy has it right. This will bite you in the ass, later."

"Yeah, I know," and Remus did know. "But you would be out there, you said. You would be trying to help."

"Anything for you," and Sirius grinned in a way that reminded him of old times. It was the same grin that Remus had fallen in love with.

"So what should I do? Give up?"

Sirius grabbed both of their cups and headed toward the sink. "I think you should lay low until the opportunity comes and you can stand on your little soap box and yell at people. But only start shit when shit can be started." He rinsed the mugs out and smiled. "And call me so I can have my bazooka ready."

"You know," Remus commented wryly as he joined his friend in the kitchen. "I wouldn't be surprised if you did have a bazooka."

A knock came at the door and they both turned. Remus yelled for the person to come in and smiled when Dennis trotted into the room.

"I thought you'd be up here," he said, and nodded at Sirius. "Hey, how's it going?"

"We're planning to build a trench in front of the shop and get ready for war!" Sirius said excitedly.

"No, we're not!" Dennis sat on the couch they had vacated as Remus glared. "We're laying low and becoming 'innocent bystanders'."

"Well that sounds like a party," the teen said sarcastically, and slouched in his seat. "Any word from you-know-who?"

"Riddle?"

"Harry."

"Oh. No," and there was obvious disappointment in Remus' tone. "I don't think he'll call. Wherever he is."

Shrugging, Dennis waved a hand at them. "He's probably way out of New York by now," ever tactful, that Dennis. "Wandering the streets in search of some steady ground."

"Emo kid is right," Sirius walked over and plopped down as well. "Harry's long gone."

Remus wanted to believe that Harry was okay and far away from the mess, and then most of him wanted Harry to be there . . . with them . . . somewhere safe. "That's enough, you two," he admonished half-heartedly. "And just to let you know, Harry and Draco use that couch to rut on."

"Ah!" Dennis shouted throatily, and got up so fast it was alarming.

Sirius smiled and snuggled into the cushions. "Sexy."

Much later that night, when Sirius had gone home with quite a few warnings about the situation and a few laughs, Remus was closing shop as he heard the phone ring from the back. He saw Mrs. Sprout practically lunge for it, and her eyebrows rise considerably.

"Remus, it's Severus for you."

He walked calmly over to the phone, where Mrs. Sprout was bouncing about with it held tightly in her hand. Taking a breath, he answered and Severus grunted.

"After spending an hour of my life I will never get back, you had better thank me."

Remus watched Mrs. Sprout pack up her things for the day, happy as a lamb, and smiled into the receiver. "Should I? Well then, thank you."

"Those boys are completely insufferable, and just as I suspected . . . I got absolutely nowhere with them and their minuscule amount of cognition."

"Was it really that bad, Severus? I know you don't mean half of the things you say about your godson." It was true, Severus loved Draco as if they shared the same blood.

"Partially. That Zabini is an embarrassment to the human race. I can't tell you how many times they changed waiters on us."

Remus laughed, shaking his head and leaning against the counter. "Did you at least explain what happened with Harry?"

"Of course, and Draco was thrilled and as irascible as usual," it sounded as if Severus were driving, and Remus hoped he'd be careful on the road. "He means to get back together with Potter."

Elation. Relief. Amusement. "Naturally. I can imagine he has been waiting for the simplest of reasons to say he's madly in love with Harry, and wants to start over."

"Ugh," Severus groaned smoothly. "The sentimentality. You're quite right though, he is clearly enamored with that . . . vegan. A waste of potential if you ask me."

"I didn't," Remus teased. "How did Blaise take it?"

"What does it matter? That boy cares about two things: sex and cigarettes. He has no available brain cells to form an opinion, let alone act on it."

Remus thought Severus wasn't giving him enough credit. Blaise Zabini had shown him a fair few times that he was extremely smart, not a genius, but a man acting the part of the dunderhead in order to get a reaction. A defense mechanism, or simply a way of making people laugh; Remus wasn't sure which.

"Harsh, Severus. I'd hate to hear what you have to say about me."

"Only good things, I can assure you. Except for your annoying ability to render me completely inarticulate at times."

"I can do that?" he said it more to himself than anything, and was oddly pleased. "Anyway, what does Draco suppose he's going to do, considering Harry's MIA?"

Severus sighed. "What he does best, I'm guessing. Sit around and wait for someone to push him in the right direction."

Feeling as if he'd heard that before, Remus shifted his weight and switched the receiver from one ear to the other. "And who do you think will do that?"

"Not his father, I can assure you. One moment," he heard Severus speak with someone, most likely the guard at the parking complex of his apartment. There was the sound of a car door slamming. "Draco has decided Lucius is the spawn of Satan, and wants nothing to do with him."

Remus could understand that, and felt anger coarse through him. Lucius Malfoy practically ruined everything Harry had ever worked for, and was the crony of the ever infuriating Tom Riddle. He remembered, suddenly, that Lucius was Severus' close friend, and refrained from voicing his opinion. "What do you think about it?" he asked instead.

"I think Lucius will do whatever Lucius will do," whatever that meant, "Draco hardly knows his father, and I told him that."

"I bet that went over well."

"It was quite enlightening," he responded sardonically, "he had a complete change of heart."

Severus let him go and he smiled at the man's infinite ability to sound completely unaffected by everything. He spent the rest of the night cleaning and attempting to feed the hormonal teenager that was Dennis. He thought back to the conversation with Severus while inhaling chow mein and teriyaki. At least the boys new what Harry had done and accepted it. The martyr complex wasn't always attractive, but Remus was glad to see in this case it had won Draco over.

The heir to Madison and David would have to be extremely careful though, because according to Severus, Draco knew all about the issue and Riddle knew that Draco knew. So to say. They would all have to be careful, on that note, and having felt the effect of Riddle's anger first hand (the repairs to his shop were costing him a fortune) Remus would remain cautious but steadfast.

It all came down to what Sirius had said before he left. "You're just going to have to hope for the best."

Never putting much store in hope, Remus had scoffed mentally but nodded all the same. He would have to let things go, and he would have to wait . . . patience is a virtue and all that jazz. Remus frowned and watched Dennis eat more than a full-grown male, and wondered what hope would give him if he believed hard enough. Hopefully, no pun intended, he wouldn't get a kick in the ass for expecting too much.

When Harry was finally able to visit Seamus, he wasn't prepared for the pale and sickly state of his friend. Seamus looked horrible, not as bad as when Harry had found him in his apartment, but certainly worse for wear. His complexion remained a milky white, and the dark circles underneath his eyes looked more like bruises than anything. Machines and beeping devices were attached to various parts of his body, and Harry sat down on the seat next to the bed very slowly.

A permanent wrinkle had settled in between his eyebrows, and he felt the need to bury his head in his hands once more. They had moved Seamus down to the recovery room, where there were beds next to his full of sick patients with similarly worried friends and family by their sides. At one end, an old man lay curled in slumber, balloons and stuffed animals bearing 'get well' tidings and sympathy cards on the table next to him. Next to the old man, there was a young woman laying in fetal position, her table dreadfully lonely and baron. Harry could see marks on her arms and he turned away, unable to look for too long.

He suddenly had the impulse to go out and buy Seamus stuffed animals and flowers, just so he wouldn't resemble the sad young woman across from them. He didn't want to hear a, "What the fuck is that?" when Seamus woke up, though, so Harry restrained himself.

Being there, he knew, would be enough for his friend, and he would stay as long as it took for Seamus to wake up. Seamus wouldn't say it, because men didn't convey feelings like that (they settled for looks and wry humor) but the appreciation would be there. The promise of that gratitude made Harry slightly sick, and he felt his stomach clench as he settled in the seat next to the bed. Nurses came in and out, checking the patients and giving him suspicious looks. You bring in a junkie and you're automatically one, he sighed mentally.

Harry blinked, putting his head down as he leaned on Seamus' bed. He well and truly hated hospitals, and briefly smelled the stench of chemicals that meant medicine . . . and death. Nostalgia brought him a troubling vision of the morgue he had visited to see his parents, and he buried his head deeper into the cushion of his arms. What the hell would he have to do to get a break? Closing his eyes, he knew that sleep wouldn't come to him for quite a while; having fallen asleep in the waiting room on the cold plastic chairs.

Seamus' slow breathing reassured him that his friend would be okay, and he couldn't help but wonder for how long. He couldn't help but wonder when the sudden turn of his unlucky circumstances would occur. Harry couldn't help but hope that it would.

It was around nine-thirty when Tom Riddle was interrupted during his morning meeting. Two men dressed in distinct law-enforcement suits had stopped him as he was speaking about their current budget; his place at the head of the table giving him an awe-inspiring view of the triumphant expression on their faces.

Tom smirked slowly as they approached him, and as he was read his rights and arrested on the spot, he saluted Harry silently in his mind. The kid had finally done it, what do you know?


	32. The Ballad of Tom Riddle

Blaise Zabini was familiar with waking up to the news in the morning. Hermione usually left it on when she got ready for work, and the soft chipper sounds of the newscasters usually annoyed the living hell out of him. Sometimes, but rarely, he would wake up from his light doze and comment on a particularly disturbing story, just to piss his girlfriend off. He always thought fatal accidents and robberies were hilarious.

The top news stories were running through his head and meshing with his dreams as he dozed, and very gradually woke up. He used to hate it when the T.V. would be blaring because Hermione thought it would get him up earlier, and that morning it seemed to be on full its volume. He turned over, shoving a pillow in front of his face so the sound was muffled. Not having any luck, he resigned himself to simply laying about and listening to the macabre stories in the media.

Lately, he'd been paying more attention to the newspapers and the radio, even looking in the obituaries once before a thought struck him as morbid and painful. Harry would not have an obituary, because no one would write one for him. Sighing sleepily, Blaise settled for listening to the broadcasts to see if any John Doe's came up matching Harry's description. He didn't feel so bad, because he knew Draco was most likely doing the same thing.

It had been two days with no word from the artist, and everyone naturally feared the worst. Harry didn't have a car, didn't have any money, and the general assumption was that he'd get as far as Staten Island and then be gunned down dramatically by one of Riddle's cronies. The image it invoked in Blaise's mind was gruesome and quite like a movie reel in the front of his eyes. He'd voiced his thoughts to Hermione, and she'd nearly slapped him for thinking about something so violent. Boys, he'd protested, thought of the most bloody and horrifying scenario and ran with it. After all, there was a less chance of being disappointed if he believed the most negative outcome.

Blaise had called the flower guy for any word on the run away, but even he too remained in the dark. Worry had made them stress without reprieve for those two days, and Blaise had about had it with the entire issue. He couldn't very well ignore it, as he had tried to do at first, and mostly because his best friend was essentially up in arms. Having to deal with Draco was usually no small feat, but as of late the blond had been very nearly intolerable. He left the apartment before even Hermione, doing who knows what and calling Blaise at work to enlighten him on his many anxieties.

Mostly, they had centered around his disgust for his father, and the 'Harry' situation, of course.

Draco was irrevocably in love, and completely and utterly infatuated. Blaise was not about to let his friend not talk about it and make the problem worse. He liked to see Harry in his mind, that stupid backpack around one shoulder as he walked down a crowded street or by a railroad track. Far away from New York in a place that was different and baron. Maybe he would be safe there, maybe something other than Tom Riddle would get him, and maybe there was someone with him, and they were both okay. The chances were unlikely, but people could dream and Blaise dreamt out loud so that Draco could hear him. So that Draco could be okay too.

It didn't work, not for Remus or Hermione (as much as they tried to think positively) or Dennis or Mrs. Sprout, or anyone that wondered in silent faith. There could be no reversal of fortune, no back-beat turn around that made the game fair play and null. If wishes were fishes...

"Embezzlement scam...Federal Bureau of Investigations...Riddle...arrest at...Madison and David."

Blaise sat up in bed and turned toward the T.V.; hair tousled and eyes wide. Holy fuck!

The morning had been muggy and overcast, and Remus had opened all of the windows and doors to get the air circulating about the room. The promise of rain and maybe a little thunder and lightening hung in the sky threateningly, and he looked down at the counter and sighed. As concerned as he was about the state of the weather, he couldn't say that it surpassed his genuine worry for the matters at hand.

Severus had not called since his luncheon with Blaise and Draco the previous day. Remus supposed the man would continue his silence for a little while longer. It just went to show how the past couldn't escape the best of people. He'd already considered putting up missing posters with Harry's face on them, but then Dennis had called him a dork and the subject had been dropped. All Remus could really do is wait, and the probability of having to wait was driving him absolutely mad.

The bell over the shop door jingled, and Remus turned toward the sound unexplainedly hopeful.

"Good morning!" Mrs. Sprout said happily, and then noticed the less than cheery expression on his face.

"Ah yes," she commiserated, walking toward him and placing a comforting hand on his arm. She jostled the package in her hand and the book bag on her shoulder. "I can sympathize with you, dear. I worry as well."

Nobody quite knew how Mrs. Sprout was filled in on the Riddle vs. Harry dilemma, but Remus greatly suspected it had been Dennis. Unless, that is, Sybil Trelawney was as good as a prophet as she claimed to be...

"Yeah, well," he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "I can't very well do anything, now can I?"

She raised two bushy eyebrows at that. "If you do, you'll be just a susceptible to murder as Harry is..."

"I know. I 've heard that quite enough, thank you."

"Oh you know he's only trying to protect you, Remus," Mrs. Sprout simpered delicately, putting down her things and smiling. "I think it's very romantic."

He wanted very much to resort back to teenage maturity and roll his eyes.

"Oh, it would be quite wonderful if Harry came back and the situation miraculously dissolved, wouldn't it?"

"I find that incredibly unlikely," he admitted morosely.

Mrs. Sprout push poshed in contradiction. "So cynical! You should really relax a little, dear."

She seemed to think about something for a long moment, and Remus dreaded her words of wisdom that would no doubt embarrass him into silence.

"This relationship," she finally ventured, "Between you and Severus, I mean. Well," she smiled a bit wistfully. "It's been good for you. You have more color in your face...you're happier."

She had managed to throw Remus off aptly, and her smile was warm as he felt a great surge of affection for her. She had always been supportive, even though her generation was less accepting of diversity, and Remus speculated she hardly understood the fundamentals of a same-sex relationship. But Mrs. Sprout had loved her husband, and he didn't have to wonder if she was the best person to notice love when she saw it in its true form. He told himself that he should listen to her more.

"Don't be angry with him, Remus. I have a hunch that he's in for the long run."

It was such a nice thing to say to someone that he found himself nudging her gently and unable to stop grinning. "You didn't get that prediction from Sybil, did you?"

She laughed as the bell over the shop suddenly went off, and he turned around, prepared to yell at the person about opening the newly repaired door too hard.

"You will never believe this!"

Dennis came pounding over to them, his sneakers skidding as he came to a stop.

"Aren't you supposed to be at school?" Remus admonished right away, but Dennis waved it off with the slap of a newspaper on the counter.

"Fucking look!"

"Dennis!" Mrs. Sprout yelled, shocked.

Remus decided to humor the boy, though only after he'd given Dennis a glare and a lingering, suspicious glance. The newspaper underneath his fingers prompted a reaction that had Dennis whooping.

"Embezzlement scam...Federal Bureau of Investigations...Riddle...arrest at...Madison and David."

"Holy fuck!"

"Remus!"

"Draco, turn on the T.V. right now!"

Sighing into his phone, Draco looked around the coffee shop he was in and paid for his Latte. "I'm not near a T.V., Blaise. What do you want?"

He nodded to the girl and grabbed his hot beverage. Blaise seemed to be breathing into the phone heavily, and Draco wondered if he was running somewhere...or from something.

"You aren't in a car chase, are you? What did I tell you about..."

"No, no, fuck!" Blaise yelled, and Draco moved the phone away from his ear. He smirked.

"Well, in that case..."

Click.

Satisfaction coursed through him, and he sat down at one of the tables and glanced at the other people around the coffee shop. He would be returning to work in a week, having taken a vacation that his father would no doubt skin him for. He hadn't gone to work in so long he wondered if he still had a job, and then he remembered (somewhat bitterly) that he would always be employed at his father's company.

His phone rang, and Draco sighed.

"I'm not bailing you out of jail, again. Call Severus."

Blaise was obviously saying something about the T.V. when he stopped at Draco's interruption. "Call Severus?" he said, getting side-tracked. "If I were in jail that would be the dumbest...anyway...Draco, listen..."

"I know, turn on the T.V.," he tilted his head to the side and put his legs up on the chair across from him. "You know, just because your set isn't working doesn't mean everyone else's fucked up..."

"Will you fucking listen! Harry!" he breathed out quickly, and Draco sat up with his feet planted firmly on the ground.

"What?!" he exclaimed loudly, and the people on laptops next to him stared. He ignored them and ran toward the counter. "Do you have a T.V.?"

"Yeah," the girl said, and Draco finally noticed that she was staring at him, awed. Fame really sucks sometimes, he thought viciously as she began to zone out in the presence of a celebrity. "A T.V.?" he reminded her snappishly.

"Oh, it's right there,"she pointed it out with her finger and he followed her eyes. He wondered how he'd missed it. She handed him the remote and he walked toward it as it turned on.

Music videos, Spanish channel, weird lady talking about obesity...news...news! He waited as they finished a story on someone's stupid dog that had inherited a Porsche.

"Embezzlement scam...Federal Bureau of Investigations...Riddle...arrest at...Madison and David."

"Holy fuck!"

Blaise laughed into the phone, "My reaction exactly."

Noticing that everyone was watching him, Draco realized he was the perfect picture of shock. One hand was clutching his hair, and the other had the remote in an unrelenting death grip.

"I..." but he cut himself off as he grabbed his keys and shot out of the door. He ran back in a second later and gave the remote back sheepishly, before loping across the room and outside.

"Draco..." Blaise's voice woke him up as he ran toward his car. "You in a car chase or something?"

Breathing heavily, Draco grinned. "Blaise..."

"Harry..."

"Yeah," and it seemed that he could not stop smiling. "I know."

"Do you mind if I ask," Severus ventured as he adjusted the plain back suit he was wearing. He shifted in his seat. "What made you do it?"

Lucius Malfoy sat across from him in an infallible pose of dignity. His suit was excellently tailored, and the expression on his face only betrayed a smug arrogance that was purely Lucius and in every way unsurprising.

"The man was threatening my family and compromising the business," and Lucius looked very serious, but amused at the same time. "He was also rather unsubtle in his practices."

Severus tilted his glass of wine at his friend. "I see it had nothing to do with your son's apparent infatuation with Mr. Riddle's rival."

"Previous rival," his friend corrected. "And no, I can assure you it was a purely selfish move on my part. I am an exceedingly selfish man, naturally."

"That you are," a rare smile flitted across Severus' face. "I'm also trusting that you're smart enough to know that this relationship will not cease. In fact, it is bound to get more infuriatingly hard to dismiss, Lucius."

The man smirked, his pale blond hair creating a corona about his head. "And when that time comes, I will be as disapproving as is expected. But you know all of this, dear Severus."

"Yes, I just wanted to hear it for myself, thank you."

The restaurant they were in was quite acceptable for the present mood, considering Lucius fancied himself triumphant. The self-satisfied look in his eyes and the half smirk were proof enough, and Severus hadn't seen that expression for a very long time. Worry and stress had made a permanent crease in between Lucius' eyebrows, and it looked as though it had thinned out his silky blond hair. Trust Lucius, however, to look as impeccable and stunning as always. The man was the proverbial fountain of youth.

An agelessness, that apparently, showed on his face as he casually dismissed Riddle as if he weren't a problem that had plagued them for nine years.

"You never cease to amaze me, Severus," Lucius smiled, accepting another glass of wine from the waiter.

He smiled into his drink in response. "I know you too well. Though I had quite a time convincing your brat of a son."

"Ah, yes, my son." His friend looked pensive as he gazed away and frowned. "This may seem like an odd query, but what do you believe he will do now?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" he said, raising one eyebrow. Odd, no. Surprising, yes. Lucius was obviously having a hard time at answering, and Severus waited patiently if not observingly.

"If Draco does not know his father," he finally managed to get out, though it was a bit hesitant. "Then his father knows him even less."

"Forgive me for not believing you..." Severus scoffed. "You worry for that boy night and day."

"But perhaps if I knew him better...I would not need to worry."

Though Draco had always been sheltered, and inevitably spoiled; he was never one prone to trouble. That is, until he fell in love with trouble himself...but on his own, individually, he could surprisingly handle any situation. The nonchalance in which he viewed what most people would snap over, was clearly his father's doing, and Draco could, if needed-take care of himself. He was a strong young man, cunning and clever, and any company would employ him for his business skill alone. All and all, Draco's strengths outweighed his weaknesses, and Severus had always known that and let the boy be.

Lucius, however, played a different role then he did. He was the father, not the friend, the discipliner and not the peer...he had a parental duty as a human being and as a Malfoy. Not to mention, that if anything had ever happened to Draco, Lucius would be broken entirely.

Severus knew that Riddle would have threatened the Malfoy heir, and that was what truly had motivated Lucius into turning in his former partner. Not selfishness, and not for personal safety. Cold-hearted and untouchable Lucius loved his son more then any amount of money or success. That was that.

"You know he cares about you deeply," Severus said, and then sneered to even up the extremely maudlin comment. "No matter how ungrateful he may seem."

It pained him to see Lucius look so skeptical.

"Lucius...all children hate their parents at one time or another," not that he would know, and he scrambled for something else to reassure his friend. "It is a common phenomena."

"The difference, Severus, is that I have done more then enough to deserve that hatred."

"Oh, fucking hell," he suddenly exclaimed, and put his glass down forcefully. "He will forgive you. It is a minor infraction, Lucius, surely. If anything, I should be the one most condemned for my actions."

"You can't have predicted Riddle would act so unwisely..." Lucius seemed oddly pained. "I would have disregarded his portentous boasting as well."

"Then we've reached an accord? This conversation is most tiresome, Lucius, really..."

The smirk on the man's face could have been reassuring enough, but he still found it prudent to agree, "We have."

Severus very well knew that Draco would forgive his father anything, but the worry Lucius imparted enacted a strong feeling of discontent within himself. Redemption was a want that he had hungered for and yet dreaded. What if, in the forgiveness he sought so desperately, the peace that it educed only made him more reckless? What if, as human nature demanded of him, he turned into the very head-strong and untouchable person he loathed to see enjoying success? Severus had never wanted anything more then absolution for his mistakes, though the prospect of such a deliverance made him shiver with apprehension.

Lucius, however, had no logical fear of condemnation from his son. They were one of a kind and would always be so, and he had grown tired of asserting that consensus to his friend. Draco was temperamental and young, therefore not much of what he said could be taken all too seriously. Was Severus the only one aware of this? He had reluctantly ventured into this subject with Remus, and he almost (almost) smiled in recollection of how Remus had teased him.

He glanced at Lucius, then, sitting and pondering as if the world were on his shoulders. Granted, it was...Madison and David was going through a much more distressful inquiry, and Lucius would have to speak in front of a judge and testify against Tom Riddle. With one of the best lawyers in the world, there was no chance he would be prosecuted for aiding and abetting (the charge placed upon him by law). The court would have to consider the blackmail and assault Riddle had presented to Lucius and his family. He would be fine, though the company would take a rather inconvenient hit.

On another, much more consequential note, no one expected Harry to testify, but Severus himself wondered if the boy would do so against their expectations. Just to see that sneer on Riddle's face as he was lead away. Rumor had it that Riddle had been endlessly amused by the police, and Lucius had gone to speak with Riddle only that morning in his holding cell.

That conversation, Lucius was keeping to himself, though he'd given Severus enough information to get the gist of it. Apparently Riddle had thought Lucius a backup in his arrest, that is, until Lucius had payed him an extremely enlightening visit. Still, though surprised, Tom Riddle had taken the pinch in stride, and had held no malice toward Lucius when the confession had come about.

"He seems rather mild about it, as if he knew it had a high probability of happening soon," his long-time friend and confidant had told him.

"And I'm gathering from that bit of information, that you did not find it alarming at all..." a raised eyebrow...met with a smile.

"The man is completely insane, Severus. Besides, he seems to think prison will suit him much better. I can imagine he'd get along quite amiably with the other criminals they have there."

Severus had pictured Riddle playing cards with tattooed inmates, and bossing around the guards with mock authority and that cleverness that made him so damnably attractive. A funny indulgence, and not all that unbelievable.

"Alright," he conceded, "He is undebatably insane, but is there adequate evidence to convict him, Lucius? What if that cockiness derives from his belief of pardon?"

"He will be convicted of embezzlement," Lucius nodded. "Murder? Undoubtedly," he grinned, as if he knew something Severus didn't. "Peter Pettigrew has decided to testify, and I, of course, will be in attendance, Severus."

Naturally, whatever Lucius says, goes, he thought a bit dryly.

"We have the books, and the letters," a waved hand that told him the subject was closed. "It is all taken care of."

Wondering for a moment, something occurred to him that hadn't before.

"What about the money?"

The smirk on Lucius' face was pleasant and oddly mischievous. "What about the money, indeed?"

Harry didn't know if he was dreaming or not, because there were very real voices in his ear that seemed strangely articulate. He became aware of himself and realized that his head was still cushioned in his arms, and that his back was aching terribly. Seamus had turned over in the night, and lay lightly snoring as the morning sun filtered throughout the room. The voices had accompanied the beeping of the machines next to the bed, and the loud conversation drowned out the pounding in his head very easily. The patient across from him, more specifically the old man Harry had seen sleeping last night, was yelling boisterously without regard to the people obviously still deep in slumber.

"I want to watch the news!" he was saying, and Harry looked at the nurse beside him sleepily.

"Please, sir," she said as if to placate him. "The others are trying to sleep..."

"I don't give a dead dog's last shit!" his protest was so loud, in response to her soft voice, that Harry glanced at Seamus to make sure he hadn't woken up. "You put on the news, woman, or I'll report you to your superiors!"

The nurse sighed, her standard blue scrubs shuffling as she walked over to the T.V. "It has to be very low, sir."

"Low! I'm an old man. I can hardly hear!"

"The doctor says your hearing is fine," she admonished, turning on the set anyway and shifting though the channels.

"What? Eh? Speak up!"

She sighed painstakingly, as Harry (now fully awake) stretched and yawned. The smile she gave him when she realized he was awake was unexpected, and he ducked his head nervously. Harry looked at Seamus, instead, noticing that his hand was entwined with his friends and had been all night. He was glad to feel that he was rather warm, and Seamus' steady breathing made him exhale softly in relief.

Harry had spent much of his time thinking of a place to send Seamus, and wondered whether his friend would be okay with flying. There was a place in California that Harry had used to work at, and he knew Seamus would be treated well in his rehabilitation there. Not to mention some of Seamus' family lived on the west coast, and though they no longer spoke to him...they would be there until Harry earned enough money to move across the country himself. Harry worried how he would be able to pay for the treatment, and he worried...he worried even as Seamus slept so peacefully beside him.

"Turn it up!" the old man shouted, and the nurse shushed him with both hands up and a frown on her homely face.

Harry glanced at the news and then down again, still in thought, when the story the broadcaster was reporting suddenly caught his attention.

"Embezzlement scam...Federal Bureau of Investigations...Riddle...arrest at...Madison and David."

And Harry's entire body went numb. And his breathing seemed to speed up as his hand fell out of Seamus' warm palm. He was no longer slouching, and there was an odd feeling in the back of his throat and in his chest. Seizing him, and holding his soul in a tight embrace. And as hope decided to come through with flying colors, he could barely hear anything but his own heartbeat, the pulse of his blood, and there...there was elation. Euphoria. Happiness. And Harry smiled.

-:-

Spring had always brought out the best in Remus' flowers. The carnations and magnolia trees he had attended to without reprieve were blossoming wonderfully. He made sure to continue nursing the blooms next year, more for his own gratification then his customers, though he was more then happy to share the wealth. If Remus had his flowers, he didn't need companionship or friends, but it just so happened that he had both.

Those same friends (besides his plants) were certainly making a fair few appearances as of late. Especially in the last week after Tom Riddle had been apprehended. Phone calls, visits at all hours, endless questions but one solitary inquisition truly on their minds: had Harry come back yet?

He had an increasingly hard time telling Draco and Blaise that no, Harry had not decided to grace him with an illustrious return. He had a hard time believing he would even come back. What if, after all, Harry hadn't run away all those times solely because of Tom Riddle? What if he really was as unpredictable and uncommited as so many had said he was? But what on earth was there to run from?

Regarded, Draco was extremely irate, and Blaise would nearly suffocate Harry in a very distinct and manly hug...and Remus himself should have a few stern words on the matter. But otherwise, Harry had gone through much more then facing his angry friends. Remus didn't want to believe that Harry wouldn't come back, even though it was likely he was gone and gone forever.

It made him angry, and he speculated that if he ever saw the stupid Vegan again, he'd deliver a punch to the jaw that would have him sprawling. Okay, maybe not...but there would be words, indeed. Heated words.

The shop was busy early in the morning, and it didn't leave Remus much time for his feelings to properly evolve. He worked in friendly fellowship with his employees, frequently scolding Dennis for one thing or another, and tried desperately to get through the day without too much anxiety. It was terribly hard, and his focus strayed, though his customers remained first and always would.

The last week had been hard to bear, but Severus had managed to remember that he still existed and worked endlessly to soothe Remus' nerves. They'd gone to the market a few times, and had dutifully avoided speaking about the subject that they were both secretly thinking about.

The subject of Riddle had come up without consent. The man was up for two life sentences for murder, and an almost unimportant charge of fraud and embezzlement. A traditional white-collar crime that had escalated with the unfortunate slaying of the Potters'. The case was scheduled for a month from then, and just before Harry's art show.

Remus had asked Severus if he wanted him to testify, and the man had adamantly told him no. He was reassured, however, when Severus claimed that Lucius' influence would end the case before it even started, and Severus was seldom wrong when so confident.

"How's the job going, Dung?" he asked, glancing at his friend and then preforming a double-take. "What's with the bird?"

Dung had a rather large Bare-eyed Cockatoo on his shoulder.

"Supposed to help with the stress. Doctor says since I don't go to AA meetings..." he shrugged, and the bird squawked. Remus flinched.

"There's shit on your shoulder."

"Really? Fuck."

Officially acknowledging that that would be the oddest thing he would see all day, Remus said goodbye with a cautious glance at the bird. As Dung left to change clothes, the bird conveyed its indignance to Dennis as he walked past them.

"What the fuck?!"

"Sorry," Dung apologized.

Remus smirked at the teenager as he came forward, and Dennis disregarded what had just happened with a shake of his head.

"I'm taking a break," he declared, and laid his head down on the counter.

"That's your tenth," a glance at his watch, "In the last forty minutes."

Dennis' head snapped up. "Yeah well, if another one of your employees decided to disappear randomly for weeks on end, you'd give them a break and not me? I think that's called favoritism, Remus."

At the subtle mention of Harry, he tensed slightly and gave Dennis a scorching glare. Remus decided, however, to let the moment pass, and he raised an eyebrow. "Take as many breaks as you want. I don't care."

"Of course you don't," Dennis sighed. "No one does."

"Suck it up, kid. You look unprofessional."

Remus was glad they would still joke around, even though the heavy feeling of misplacing something was still there. Draco paid the rent piously when it was due, and yet he had not come back to the loft. Remus had refrained from going upstairs, tired of staring at Harry's paintings and wondering.

"Are you going to order lunch? I'm hungry," Dennis whined, suddenly.

Remus sighed, and seeing as there were no customers, they both went into the back.

"Chinese!"

"We had that yesterday."

"Oh, come on, Remus!"

The lady over the phone took down their order and clarified it in an extremely heavy accent. Dennis added things in Remus' ear annoyingly, and the total magnified with every order of Kung Pow Chicken. He vaguely heard the door open and the bell chime, and he shouted, "Be right with you!" before turning back to the phone with Dennis looming over him from atop the counter.

"You're costing me a fortune," Remus said as he hung up. "How can you eat that much?"

"I'm a growing boy, Remus. Don't you remember what it was like to be young?" then he seemed to think about it. "Maybe not."

He pushed Dennis off of the counter and glared at the boy that smiled at him cheekily. To his consternation-the shop was empty when he walked out. He briefly wondered if the customer had stolen something, and then an object on the counter caught his eye. It was a book.

The Fountainhead stared up at him from its seat on top of a black jacket splattered with paint. Both were encased in road dust, and the scent of lavender reached his nose, and suddenly–Remus was grinning from ear to ear.

"Hey."

He turned and looked at Harry. His smile blossomed.

"Hey, yourself."

Draco placed his papers on the coffee table and sighed. He was trying to get back into some semblance of normalcy. Having to face his father was something he didn't want to do, but seeing as it was inevitable, he deduced that he would have to deal with it as best he could. Which meant going through an abnormal amount of paperwork and faxes sent to him by various clients. It was tough work, and he didn't fancy walking into his office and having more shit to deal with...as well as the one person he didn't want to encounter or converse with. His father's temperament promised an argument like no other, and Draco dreaded the words that they would undoubtedly throw at each other.

Lucius would be angry...that much was completely sure, and Draco always got highly defensive when that anger turned on him. His father's ire was infamous, and his son would know, he couldn't count how many times he'd had to deal with that impassive expression that belayed something furious. Something very deadly. And Draco could admit that he was scared of his father, and that he always had been. It didn't prevent him from rebelling every chance he got, however, and Draco had received a reputation for being a sarcastic bastard and just as ferocious as his father. If they should ever team up; they would be damn near unstoppable.

Blaise had told him something interesting in that regard, and it had dominated his mind thoroughly. Why am I going back? The words flashed through his mind and he dissected the possibility with curious precision. He could get almost any job in the business, and yet he worked for the family company...why? He hated the way his father would breathe down his back, and couldn't stand that they constantly had to contradict each other. He didn't particularly enjoy his work, but he tolerated it. Much like he had tolerated Pansy, and that had fallen through as soon as the opportunity to leave had presented itself.

Blaise had said that he could choose for himself now; Harry had taught him that. So why not make a decision? Why not do something with his money and his time since he did have both in magnificent quantities. He was not in a completely inauspicious situation, and perhaps it was time for a change. He decided that going back to work and facing the consequences of his leaving would be proof enough. Heir or not, no one would fault him except his father.

That in itself was an issue–he couldn't help but think that he would be disowned, and as much as he didn't give a shit about the business...he cared about his father.

The sound of his cell phone ringing brought him out of his stupor, and he shuffled through the stack of papers to answer it. The I.D. didn't match anyone he knew.

"Hello?" he answered, impatiently.

"Draco?" and that was Remus' voice.

He wasn't late on the rent, he'd paid it last Wednesday..."What?"

"Harry's back."

For a moment, he simply sat extremely still. The calm ticking of the clock on the wall made him forget he was on the phone. He blankly stared, not entirely processing the words until he came back to himself as Remus yelled for his attention. He listened for half a second, before he was getting up and rushing out of the door, smirking that infernal smirk and anticipating a kiss that was long overdue.

Queens was a borough of culture and style. Not the rich and work-related style of Manhattan, but glorious with diverse people and places. Though the streets were harsh and the crime consistent, part of that hazardous thrill only made the city wiser, and infinitely more intriguing. With so many differences in races and conglomerations, a drive from Manhattan to flushing was a bit like journeying to a separate country entirely. And yet, the smiles shared the same pride and the laughter had the same edge. To others who believed in the tradition of the rich and poor facade-Queens was a scar on the face of New York. To those who really knew...it was a place flourishing with life and sound.

Across the 59th Street Bridge, the loft and the Fleur-de-lis stood on the grounds of northern Queens. A lively part and no less distinct then the light and hustle of Manhattan. The sidewalks moved with controversy and talk. Perhaps the vernacular would change and the mood of the thoroughfare with it, but the state of natural movement remained. The signature was still there.

Draco would have never noticed it if he hadn't seen the phenomena for himself. He would have never enjoyed the interests of these people or the contentions they involved themselves in. He would have never noticed the families that fought in good and bad humor, and the familiarity that came with having a home and...friendship. Previously considered philistine, the interaction of seemingly worthless people in his eyes began to intrigue him. Curiosity turned to tolerance, and tolerance turned to like. He doubted he would ever be able to think the same of others again.

Just as driving was therapeutic for him (back in the days of clients and stress) it became enjoyable and more so when he passed the streets that marked him one step closer to home. He had missed the studio above the flower shop. Missed the sound of conversation and laughter that came from the nursery downstairs. He missed living with his stupid artist roommate that got paint everywhere and argued with everything he said. Going back put a grin on his face that he was sure would never come off.

Vaguely, he acknowledged Remus' promise to keep Harry there, but Draco knew better. He knew that Harry wouldn't leave again, and just as the stars would be in the sky at night, he knew Harry had come back to face the consequences...that he had come back to Draco. Perhaps Harry thought he didn't have a chance at redemption, and that was what had kept him? Of course he was forgiven, Draco scoffed, the moron seemed to think the affection wasn't mutual.

Okay, so he hadn't always been the most tender boyfriend. Okay, so he wasn't a very patient person and he couldn't stand some of the idiosyncrasies that made Harry, well, Harry. In fact, he imagined that he hated them so much he loved them...secretly, and to hell with admitting it. He would have to be more honest and bold, however, and Draco promised to be the kind of partner Harry would never want to let go. The idiot artist had pulled up a chair and made himself comfortable in Draco's heart, and he vowed to do likewise.

He pulled up to the Fleur-de-lis and parked his car, for once deciding not to lock it, and he hustled out onto the street nervously. A light drizzle had started, and the clouds above him resolved to drift over the sun in menacing dominance. The familiar jingle of he door brought a smirk to his face, and suddenly there was a rush and the slam of a body on his torso.

"Draco!" Dennis said, holding a large potted plant and smiling. "Sorry. I ran into you. You're a sight for sore eyes, though."

And there, that acceptance and welcome was something Draco had never really experienced among friends. It was something he would remember feeling for the rest of his life as his smirk turned into a smile. A feeling only made stronger when Remus gave him a one-armed hug and the customers acknowledged him in credence. There, Draco knew, he was finally in the place he belonged. What an emotion it was, and he felt quite overwhelmed and amused at the same time.

"He's upstairs," said Remus, his grin flattering and playful.

Draco bit his lip, trying to stop looking so infernally happy. "When did he come back?"

"About an hour ago," the flower guy shrugged. "I don't understand him and I don't give a shit if I ever will."

Draco agreed without knowing he'd been privy to that information all along.

"Draco!" a sudden cry came from the back of the shop. He was attacked once more by Mrs. Sprout, who deposited soil all over his clothes and nearly impaled him with her shears. Draco didn't mind, though. "How are you?"

Before he could answer, she gushed onward. "Oh, it's so great that you're back. It hasn't been the same at all!"

Pleasantly surprised, he smiled at the woman and turned to Remus for a little confirmation.

"Who would miss the yelling and screaming?"

Mrs. Sprout hit him, "Remus!"

The man sent him a smile that said he was only kidding, and Draco felt elated and humbled at the same moment.

"Really dear, it is a pleasure. We just got a new shipment of orchid seeds and they're already sprouting quite nicely..."

Footsteps. The last stair creaked and Draco turned at the noise. And Harry was suddenly there, looking so lovely that Draco's fingers ached to touch, and the expression on his face was sheepish and meek as he looked down at him from the stairway. It was a look that Draco had never seen on his face, but it endeared him nevertheless.

And suddenly it was just Harry and him, the silence between them pulling like gravity and moving him forward. He followed Harry up the stairs, and the artist looked back to make sure Draco was on his heels, and excitement and fear lingered in his bright green eyes.

The door had closed, almost too soon, and they were standing in the place they had fought in, made love in, and laughed in; a studio that seemed much more then a studio. An altruistic-by nature- set of walls that defined no purpose but what a man could find in its existence.

The loft hadn't changed at all, from what Draco could see, hear, and smell. Harry's paintings were still everywhere, and the dust from his shoes marked his passage from the couch to the kitchen and back again. The staircase remained its ever-violet, and the door to his room was open; just as Draco had left it. The window introduced the sound of rain to the room, which had begun in slow droplets and descended into a downpour. And there was Harry's backpack, gone but not forgotten in their intellect, though...considerably less significant. All that seemed to matter, in that moment, was the tilt of Harry's head and the anticipation on his face.

"I'm glad you're back," he was, miraculously, able to say.

"There was a problem, with Seamus," Harry spoke quietly, and Draco felt a rush of affection and possession with the sound of his soft voice. "I would have come back sooner..."

"Would you?" Draco snapped, but then cursed and stared at his feet. "Yeah," he nodded, looking up. "You would. I know."

Pleasure lightened Harry's expression for a moment, and then it dropped to something very close to guilt...shame...hopelessness... "I'm sorry."

Somehow, the apology didn't matter despite his want and need of it just weeks ago. He shrugged.

"Who knew my father wasn't such a bastard?" Who knew I wasn't either?

Harry had heard the context and nodded, smiling softly. The silence returned until Harry seemed to gather his courage.

"I know that things can't be the same..." he started.

"Why can't they?" Draco said, stepping closer.

Shock and amazement covered that shame, and Harry's mouth fell open. "Are you sure?"

For the second time that day, he shrugged. "As far as I'm concerned, nothing means shit to me if you're going to stick around."

It was the most understanding comment Draco had ever said to him, and the most forward. It was sincere and contrite, and marked a change that had begun within himself that could only be beneficial. It made the surprise Harry felt... not all that surprising at all, and the conflict and unreason became a trivial part of their past. And Harry smiled.

"Let's start over?"

Some of the pleasure Draco was feeling receded. "As friends?"

Harry glanced away and back, and then lifted one shoulder. "As whatever you want."

He spent a moment simply looking at something he could now call his. "Okay."

And it really was okay.


	33. Moving Forward

Brighton Beach was spectacular at sunset. The peninsula on the coast of Brooklyn was home to many diverse types of inhabitants, and around their existence the waves of the Atlantic ascended and crumbled as the sky above them remained blue. At the last hours of the day, the land and sea donned a miraculous abundance of colors both pleasing and eccentric to the eye. The city on the edge of the world, with its man-made structures and the twisting coaster of the fanfare marked Coney Island as what it truly was: a bright and unique place where machine and earth adjoined.

Not that Blaise could give a flying fuck about the scenery, seeing as he was in a rather large argument with his girlfriend, and trying valiantly not to submit from underneath her stern and frightening glare. She had never even been to Coney Island, and yet her insistence to turn left (even when left meant driving off of the pier) made him contradict her in disbelief. He couldn't even turn that way, he'd asserted loudly, but the only words Hermione seemed to be aware of were the ones of defiance and not wisdom. He couldn't understand it. Wisdom was his middle name.

He couldn't very well go slower, as she had asked him to, because his foot did all the brain work when it was on the gas pedal. When she'd claimed that it was anatomically impossible, he'd given up and stopped the car all-together, nearly causing the car behind him to rear-end Hermione's bumper, and oh . . . how that had set her off.

"You've never even been over here before!" he shouted, but couldn't help being slightly amused about the situation.

"I'm the one with the directions!"

"Fuck directions."

Hermione looked lovely though, sitting in the passenger seat with her hand clutching the seat belt spasmodically. The fight for him, therefore, held no malice, and he could sense her benevolent frustration and how she tried very hard not to lose her resolve at chastising him. In fact, she was remarkably without her business attire, and the skirt she was wearing showed off her legs quite well. Blaise caught himself staring at a few rather inconvenient times.

"Merge here. Merge here!" she demanded, and he scoffed.

"Will you calm down? I can't handle this kind of shit in my life..."

Hermione pounced. "You do nothing all day except play that stupid Game boy and steal things off of other people's desks. And if I get a call from Nott," she poked a finger in his direction. "Who seems to think I'm your mother...that you've been in trouble for sexual harassment again..."

"Aw, Nott just can't take a joke. I've told you about a thousand times," and Blaise really had, but it seemed to be a favorite topic of Hermione's to discuss.

"I'm working long hours at the office and studying for the bar exam..." as she continued on that overused theme, he reminded himself that the bar exam had something to do with lawyers and not a test of one's blood alcohol tolerance. He'd gotten so excited too...

"Hey, hey," he interrupted. "I do things. I got the job for a reason, didn't I?"

"Your father's the vice president! You don't even get a real deposit! I don't think you were even legally employed..."

"Was too."

"Was not."

Before he could start the familiar byplay, she stated, "Turn left, right here."

"Turn left or right?"

"Left!"

"But you just said turn left right, here. There is no left-right," Blaise yelled, and pounded his hands against the steering wheel. "You're gonna have to study pretty damn hard for that Alcoholic's exam!"

She hit him upside the head with the directions.

Brighton Beach had many art galleries, but the one they were going to was larger than most in Blaise's opinion. As they pulled up, he could already see the press lurking outside, and he grinned in anticipation. People, vast crowds of people, went inside where the music was blasting and the show was already in full swing. They weren't late, and Blaise gauged that Harry and Draco hadn't even arrived yet. Harry had said Oliver would be there, and though he'd promised not to get into a fight with the berk...his fingers were aching to break something... like the guy's nose.

The gallery was exquisitely designed, and the outside architecture promised interestingly slanted rooms and three balconies with drinks galore. Hermione could toss back more then him and be completely sober (though he knew she wouldn't) so he didn't have to worry about getting back to Manhattan. Not that he cared much either way, but the speeding tickets in his glove compartment were collecting.

"There's an empty space!" Hermione pointed, a considerable vulture when it came to getting parking spaces.

He pulled in and hit the cement divider, and she scowled. Blaise got out of the car.

"We're here!" he shouted out to no one in general. He hadn't expected any sort of warm welcome, so he was mightily surprised when flashes went off in his face as he walked with Hermione to the building.

"Mr. Zabini! Mr. Zabini! What do you think about Mr. Malfoy's resignation from Madison and David?"

"Mr. Zabini! Do you approve of your best friend's relationship with Harry Potter?"

Blaise stopped, despite Hermione hugging his arm, and smiled charmingly. "I think it's goddamned sexy!" the flashes went off and Hermione dragged him inside as he made barking noises.

"You had to indulge them, didn't you?" she discouraged as they walked on, but had to shout over the volume of the music.

"Of course I fucking did, wow..." and suddenly he seemed star-struck. "They've never paid attention to me before!"

"The media," Hermione scoffed, "Is fixated on Harry and Draco. You're merely a means of information, darling."

"I love it!"

"So does Draco, but Harry's modest enough to hate the attention."

"Harry's a troglodyte."

Hermione turned to stare at him. "Have you been reading a dictionary?"

"Have you been reading a dictionary?" he mocked in response, but smiled at her angry glower.

Draco had helpfully supplied that word, in all actuality, and really why the hell would someone read a dictionary for Christ's sake...

Lately, the talk around New York was everyone's favorite couple; a Romeo and Juliet story that fascinated people and amused them at the same time. Draco had made fun of it, especially when he had heard about the array of human rights groups set to back up their preferences. Harry, however, was extremely reluctant to go anywhere near the press. He was going to have a royal fit when he saw the crowd outside; no doubt. But besides the almost uncomfortable amount of bodies, Blaise was excited and happy with such an event.

The building was decorated quite nicely for the occasion. They both admired the lights and paintings in the forefront of the show. Blaise still considered some of the art they put into the exhibition a complete waste of time, and he pushed his way through the stream of nut jobs and enthusiasts. He'd dressed in a suit for the affair, if only to wear the Capone-like yellow hat that Harry had gotten him, and the purple socks he'd pilfered from Draco. Hermione had said he looked ridiculous, but very handsome, and an arrogant smirk decided to make a home on his face. He even saw a few girls giving him the eye, and he'd checked them out mutually (but only in good humor) until Hermione had noticed and smacked him.

One piece was particularly terrifying and Blaise stepped away from it and grabbed his girlfriend's hand.

"Fucking shit," and then he glanced around. "This place is packed. Harry's got his own club."

Speaking of Harry, they came up to a special room on the second floor where Harry's art graced the walls and the crowd got even thicker. Blaise looked steadily at Harry's paintings and was pleasantly surprised. Though most of his pieces before had been based off of landscapes and scenery, his central focus had obviously been the city.

The strange thing about Harry's paintings was not that they lacked a dimension, or the style most modernists inserted into their work. Blaise wasn't too savvy with art, but he could tell the distinctness between a painting of Harry's and another artist's. While most of their depictions could capture feeling and shape quite well, Harry's extreme ability to put the reality of the city on canvas was remarkable. He seemed to pay a hell of a lot of attention to each solemn detail, nothing in way of specifics was lacking, and immediately a surveyor would notice the little things that they maybe hadn't noticed before. It was as if every bit of a familiar something became extravagantly candid, and the length to which Harry put effort into it astounded all those inclined to look.

His paintings hadn't always been popular. In fact, the first mural Harry was ever commissioned to do was widely criticized and discouraged. Why put so much detail in something so simple? What was his purpose if not simply painting insanity? There looked to be no meaning in Harry's shapes and colors. The symbolic aspect so many artists relied on were nonexistent. It seemed as if Harry painted for the sake of painting, and yet, when seeing it for the first time...people said it was wonderful. Fantasy in reality...nonfiction based on fiction; a work of previously never before imagined art. Critics had claimed it crude and without virtue that it glorified parts of the world not meant to be glorified. It had been, between very different groups and conglomerations, thought of as fraud.

But when Harry went to Amsterdam, everything had changed. A woman named Skeeter had written a review on the show in a very popular magazine, and though she wouldn't say what made Harry's art so miraculous, she had represented the truth well. People started to take notice, and Harry's paintings went up in galleries' and museums around the world. One piece had even made it into a sort of history book; a flattering something that had both disgusted and appalled Harry at the same time.

The difference between Harry and any other artist, was that he chose to paint to show and not fuel the intellectual. His works held no mysterious understanding of the world, but stood for a simple man accomplishing nothing but everything. Familiarity was one of the main emotions induced, and onlookers stopped to take notice of it because of that little impression. Blaise was surprised he felt the emotion, as he wasn't looking for a reason for it and had no particular interest in art. It related to him for what he was, as if it had molded itself for his use alone.

"Jesus Christ," he said, and had to turn away.

Hermione seemed to want to look a bit more though, and he left her as he journeyed on through the display of canvases and sculptures.

"Mr. Zabini!" he turned, getting annoyed with all of the 'Mr. Zabini' crap, and smiled at Remus.

"Hey flower guy," and walking over to him in the crowd was harder than he'd thought. "Where's your greasy teddy bear?"

A choked laugh came from Remus before Severus suddenly stepped up to them and scowled at Blaise.

"Of course, he's right here," and he pointed somewhat nervously. "Of course he heard that."

"Please refrain from calling me pet names in public, Mr. Zabini," Severus jeered, and Blaise looked at him, askance. Was that a joke?

"Was that a joke? Fuck," he glared accusingly at Remus. "You've made him soft. You've gone soft."

"And you're a delusional ignoramus."

Blaise grasped his head in pain. "Big words. Please, I can't translate."

"I've insulted you enough for you to realize what he's saying," Hermione said, having fought her way through the wall of people and looking rumpled. "Hello, Remus."

"Miss Granger," Remus greeted her enthusiastically. "How are you?"

"What's with the Mr. and Mrs. bullshit?" Blaise snapped. "Do we have to fuck to use first names?"

"Delusional," Severus nodded, "Ignoramus."

"A suitable response," said Remus, smiling. "Anyway, have you taken your bar exam yet, Hermione?"

Talk of Hermione's bar exam nearly bored him to death, and only when a person Blaise didn't want to see, showed up, did he start paying attention to the conversation.

"You're all here for Harry?" Oliver Wood inquired pleasantly, shaking hands all around.

"Of course. Missing it would be a travesty, surely."

"Be nice," Remus admonished Severus, and smiled at Wood. "He hasn't arrived yet?"

"No, I called him on Malfoy's phone a few times, but there was no answer," he shrugged. "Must be lost."

"That's doubtful," Blaise said a bit aggressively. "They probably got into a fight on the way over here. They've been going at it for weeks . . . "

"Really?" and Wood looked concerned. Blaise was mildly disappointed he didn't seem jealous of his knowledge in dealing with Harry and Draco.

"It's an odd sort of fighting. I think they get turned on by it."

Hermione glared at him.

"It's more of a good-humored sort of quarreling," Remus clarified. "They're doing fine, really."

Wood nodded in understanding. "So that's what it takes to win over Harry Potter," he smirked, bemused. "Be a right bastard."

"Wouldn't you have fucked him by now, then?"

"Oh wow," Hermione grabbed his arm. "We're going to go over here..."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she stared at him, hard. "Must you? And watch your language."

"Why does he have to be here?" Blaise whined.

Accustomed to the high nasally tone that her boyfriend would sometimes adopt, Hermione stopped and examined one of Harry's pieces a bit distractedly. "I'm assuming because Oliver is his art dealer, as well as his friend."

Whatever it was Blaise was going to say next was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and surprisingly, his eyes met empty space. Blaise frowned, annoyed. By chance, he looked down, just in time to see a short stumpy man that vaguely resembled a walrus. The man had quite a few gold chains around his neck, and a large furry cape across his shoulders. A yarmulke sat atop his head, tilting to the back, and the grin the man wore was almost completely hidden by his mustache.

"Mr. Zabini?" the squat little man said, and Blaise frowned, ugly! "I'm Horace Slughorn," he reached out a pudgy hand.

"Ew," Blaise looked at Hermione. "Hermione, ew."

She glowered at him in return, before turning to their visitor. "How do you do, Mr. Slughorn," she took his hand instead. "What can we do for you?"

"You're friends with Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, yes?"

Blaise stared at the 'Slug' fellow, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Yeah, why?"

"I was hoping you would be able to arrange a meeting. My wife has been on my back about introducing her to the famous couple..."

That man does not have a wife, Blaise decided viciously, and he scowled. A glance toward Hermione made him confident that she was just as disgusted as he was.

"Um, I'm afraid not Mr. Slughorn," she managed politely in response.

"Fuck off!"

Hermione shoved Blaise behind her and tried to smile pleasantly once more. Though it looked a little strained. "Harry and Draco aren't much for meetings..."

"That's too bad," said Slughorn. "I admire Mr. Potter's work greatly!"

"I thought you said your wife liked his shit!" Blaise protested, sticking his head out from behind Hermione's shoulder.

"Yes well, she does..."

"Pervert!"

"Blaise!" Hermione kicked him in the shin. "I'm very sorry sir, perhaps you can meet them when they show up?"

"Yes, yes," Slughorn blinked. "I must be going though. Would you be so kind as to give them my regards?"

"Will do."

"Will not."

Once the man was gone, Hermione rounded on him indignantly. "You're so rude, Blaise! He was a perfectly polite person!"

"He was a perverted freak," he retorted, and glared. "And he just wanted in on Harry and Draco's fame. You know it!"

"Of course I know it," she stomped her heel on the ground, "but that doesn't mean you should act like a barbarian!" Hermione pushed back her brown hair and crossed her arms. "Besides, you should be used to it. Draco's always been famous."

"I am used to it! And it's best to tell them all to fuck off!"

"Language!"

"You two had best stop this ruckus," Severus suddenly said, sidling up to them. "You're making a scene."

Blaise shook his head. "Fuck scenes!" he yelled, and nearly everyone in the room glanced sideways at the noise he was making. "And fuck art!"

A collective gasp seemed to come from the onlookers simultaneously (or maybe Blaise had a wild imagination) and he grinned. He wondered at starting a riot, and half-heartedly jostled the man next to him. Blaise didn't get to see any more of Harry's art, because the clawlike grasp on his arm had him out of the showroom as he saluted Severus goodbye.

Draco had turned left; he swore he had. Not that it would make much difference, considering Harry was already yelling at him and wasn't about to stop. He therefore purposely swerved back and forth to jostle his passenger in retaliation. He had meant to turn left though, that mistake wasn't intentional. His arm was aching from where Harry had punched him, and he imagined Harry was feeling a bit uncomfortable on account of Draco stopping beside the road and attempting to remove the artist's clothes. Harry's shirt was half-off and rumpled, and one leg was up as Draco made a harsh turn that prompted Harry's palm to flatten itself against the window in a panic.

"Slow down! Jesus!"

"We're late," Draco said, snapping his head around to look at him. He grinned.

"We were late before. Doesn't make much difference now!" Harry turned to meet his eyes, and then to look back at the road. "We'll be dead instead of late."

"I'll see you in heaven, baby."

Harry growled. "Shut the fuck up with that 'baby' crap!" Draco was smiling like a mad man now, and Harry seemed extremely vexed. "Now turn left! Not right! Left!"

"Right-left?"

"Left!"

When they made it outside of the gallery, albeit belatedly, they entered the parking lot with a screech of Draco's tires and a loud curse from Harry. They parked swiftly, both of Harry's hands on the dashboard, and managed to calm down enough to look around.

"I'm not going in there!"

Considering the press and undoubtedly psychotic fans were numerous, Draco quite readily agreed with him, but then...not really.

"We drove all the way to the ass-end of Brighten Beach and you're backing out? I don't think so," he snapped waspishly. He turned off the engine and turned to stare at his roommate.

"I don't want to," Harry said childishly, and then uncrossed his arms and sat up when Draco raised an eyebrow at him. "It's too crowded. I don't know half of those people."

"You know the other half, though?" Draco turned to sit normally and counted on his fingers. "That's like forty reporters and ten stalkers."

"Shut up, I'm not going."

Smirking, Draco pushed his hair back and leered at Harry suggestively. "Then I guess we'll have to hide out in the car. We can't just bail on drinks tonight. But you know," he looked at the dwindling light from the sunset, "It'll get cold. We can share body heat."

Harry unbuckled his seat belt and grasped the door handle. "Keep your cock in your pants. I'm going."

Mildly disappointed, but successful, Draco watched Harry begin to open the door and grabbed the artist's hand. Harry turned back to him, confused, and then sighed. He leaned across the seat of the car, stopping just as their lips were about to touch, and Draco took the initiative and connected their mouths. The smooth feeling of Harry's lips seemed familiar, now, and he wrapped a hand around Harry's neck and brought him forward.

Draco sought his tongue with his own, entwining them, and smiled into the kiss as it grew deeper, more carnal. Harry's hand was against his neck, and he was reminded of that silky expanse of skin and he made for it, laying soft kisses down until he reached the junction in between Harry's shoulder and neck. Dark hair tickled his head, and he leaned back up to capture those lips again, scooting forward and swinging his arm around Harry's shoulders. He wanted to be close, he wanted the artist to hop over the clutch and straddle him...bypassing any thought of art shows or conceptual freaks.

Harry, however, had a different plan, and drew away with Draco's pleasurable mouth following him. Draco caught one tiny last kiss before Harry was too far to touch.

"What is it with you and kissing in cars?" Harry said, a bit breathlessly. "First you start groping me in the middle of the road..."

Draco smirked at him, and he stopped babbling. "Men and cars. You know it's a turn-on."

The brunette scoffed, and opened the door. Draco soon left the car as well, following Harry's long strides across the parking lot. Suddenly, when Draco was perfectly fine with watching the as-artist in front of him, said loon backtracked and grabbed his hand, shoving him against the side of the building.

"What the fuck?" he exclaimed, and Harry shushed him.

"I think I know another way in."

He let Harry play 007, amused, and trailed his roommate to what seemed to be a fire escape.

"Oh no, Malfoy's don't do fire escapes."

Harry was half way up the ladder when Draco protested, and he looked back down. "Just get up here! I'll make you a steak."

"You can suck my dick."

"That too."

Draco didn't like being blackmailed or bribed, but figured the deal was pretty good (considering he was a bit uncomfortable in the pants), and jumped up to clutch the ladder. He pushed up with his forearms and hooked a leg over the rungs. "Shit," he cursed, and pulled up into standing position. "How the hell did you get up there so fast?"

Harry chose not to answer and continued to ascend. Draco shuffled after him, glad he was wearing jeans and a tee-shirt rather then his standard suit. There was grease on his hands, ugh.

Hopping up onto the metal balcony, Harry reached to pull down the next ladder and gave Draco a hand. "Are you shitting me?" Draco said loudly, and Harry waved his hands to keep him down.

More climbing, until Harry came to the next platform and went over to the window. The blond stepped up beside him and watched as he attempted to push the window open. It was locked, and Harry cursed.

"What now, Houdini?"

"Shut up."

Harry swung his backpack around and unzipped it. Reaching inside, he took out a long, thin... metal crowbar.

"What-why do you have that?"

Turning to look at him, Harry put his backpack back around and shrugged. "In case you locked your keys in your car, of course."

Draco supposed he had a lot of room for crowbars without illegal accounting books and wallets full of money. He was still mildly alarmed, though. The crowbar went into the bottom ridge of the window, and Harry struggled with it for a moment. After a couple upward jerks that had Draco raising his eyebrows, there was a resounding click.

"Old windows," Harry said conversationally as he started to edge it open. "The locks are always at the bottom," the window slid open.

"You should put a brick in there," he commented, pointing at Harry's backpack. "It would save time."

Harry climbed through, shoving the crowbar in between the opening so that it wouldn't slide down. "Too noisy. Honestly, Malfoy."

He went in after him, and held the window up so that Harry could remove his lethal 'car door opener'. "You're keeping it?"

"It's my crowbar."

"Whatever, baby," he looked around. "Congratulations, we're in a broom closet."

Harry strode up to the door, replacing his stuff and zipping up his pack before gripping the handle. "Let's go, darling."

The camera flashes went off before Draco could fully comprehend Harry's new pet name for him.

Blaise hadn't believed what he'd heard in the crowd of chatting people, but then thought about it for half a second before finding it highly plausible. Harry and Draco had done what? Yes, Blaise thought it was very likely. He had spent the last hour or so mingling, well, Hermione had mingled and he had stood by sullenly. The various pieces and rooms with abstract paintings and sculptures had made Blaise scratch his head, but there were too many odd bits and bobs for him to contemplate them all.

Night had come upon them, and the lights on the ceiling looked as if they had been fantastically planned. With a balcony on the top floor and a bar everywhere he looked, Blaise had helped himself to wine and let Hermione do all the meeting and greeting. By the time he'd received word that his two friends had graced the gallery with their presence, Blaise was well on his way to being drunk. He could tell, because Hermione didn't seem to be talking loud enough.

Severus and Remus had decided to tour the building a little more, and Blaise was glad that they weren't around. Their easy companionship was sometimes disconcerting, and though he had no serious problems with his girlfriend...it was hard seeing them at a stage where they thought the world of each other. Blaise was never one for mushiness.

He was therefore, without a doubt, relieved when Harry and Draco had fallen into their relationship with a unique and oddly strange technique. Though their bickering sometimes got annoying, Blaise figured their sex life was miraculous, and looked on fondly as if seeing a reflection of his and Hermione's partnership. The two couples were very alike, and Blaise wondered if Draco saw the circumstances' one and the same.

Blaise finally glimpsed Harry and Draco sneaking toward them through the crowd, drawing a lot of attention despite their attempt to be inconspicuous.

"So," he started once Draco greeted him with a hurried nod. "I heard you guys had a tryst in a broom closet." He glanced from Harry to Draco. "The press looked like the cock ring had been removed."

"This guy," Draco jutted a thumb at Harry. "Decided to break in with the crowbar he had stashed in his bag."

Blaise was suitably impressed. "Harry. You're my new best friend."

The crowd outside of the gallery seemed like a simple appetizer compared to the mass that huddled inside, and Harry debated hiding in a corner somewhere. Draco had dragged him through the bodies, despite his reluctance, and he stood fidgeting underneath the stares and pointing fingers.

The bar stationed next to the DJ looked particularly agreeable, but Draco didn't fancy leaving his car in Brighton Beach and coming back for it in the morning. Blaise had already started in, apparently, and though Hermione was nowhere to be seen, his eyes skittered left and right before he said anything inappropriate.

"The flower guy is here somewhere, with his teddybear."

Meaning Severus, they both knew, and Draco looked around for them.

"There's also a lot of fucking weirdos here..."

Besides you? Draco wanted to retort, but was distracted when Hermione latched onto Harry's arm. "What's this I hear about a broom closet?"

"Goddamn it..." Draco snapped, groaning, and turned to Harry accusingly.

"What?" he said defensively. "I'm not the one that turned on the wrong street!"

"I was distracted."

"You wouldn't keep your hands off!"

"You were sitting in that seat like a pretzel, and it was bothering me!"

"Your hair bothers me but I don't mess it up!"

Draco put a hand over his hair, anxious.

"A strange sort of foreplay, but effective," Blaise pointed out, and he turned to his girlfriend. "You think we should try it?"

"A battle of 'what I don't like about you'? Do you want to be degraded?" she bit back, both eyebrows disappearing. Blaise, naturally, put that idea in the trash and set it on fire.

Besides a number of guys and girls hitting on Draco and Harry alternatively, there was no alarming encounters that had them heading for the door. Draco thought it would be prudent to flirt mercilessly with one of the girls getting fresh with him, that is, until Harry dragged him away. That had led to a spectacular fight where both young men had vanished into the gentlemen's room for fifteen minutes...coming out a bit ruffled and annoyed. Blaise hadn't let them get away with that, and had pointed out (laughing madly) that Harry's fly was down.

When the show had died down, with a huge sigh of 'finally' for Blaise and embarrassment on Harry's part -considering he'd been stared at and hit on relentlessly, they all gathered together to go out for drinks. Having planned to go out but not where, the result of them being unprepared was a rather loud quarrel in the parking lot. Hermione had eventually halted the yelling (the yellers mostly being Draco and Blaise) and made an executive decision to go back to Manhattan.

Harry had briefly taken a moment to say goodbye to Oliver, and Draco had watched them, interested, as they made their adieus. The way Oliver was looking at Harry reminded Draco of sowing seasons, when the farmland outside of their cottage in Albany was fertile and barren. He didn't understand why it made him think of that so very suddenly, but then Harry reached up and hugged his friend like a little kid, and the feeling was back. It reminded him of open skies and old relationships. It reminded Draco of Severus and Remus saying goodbye to each other that one time when Severus had left for Kenya for again, and he almost smiled fondly.

Oliver would be in Harry's life no matter what Draco did. But suddenly, after swearing to hate the man's guts, Draco stopped himself from dragging Harry away from the hug forcefully and punching Wood in the face. Suddenly, Draco knew that no matter who or what was presented as an alternative, Harry was with him, and nothing besides themselves could change that. Nothing but a consensus between the two of them that Draco knew would never happen on his part. Oliver would simply be another alternative shoved aside.

As he watched them, as Harry looked particularly regretful at not seeing Oliver for a while, and Draco let himself be confident in the fact that he had something great. It was too bad Blaise had started fighting about where to go for drinks with him, because Draco would have probably liked to see the look Harry shot him. A look of recollection and moving forward.

The drive back to Manhattan was as different as it was peaceful. With Hermione following in her car behind them (and Draco leading the way back home) they came to a steady speed down the thruway until the skyline hit them with its light and power reflected silently off of the river. It was as breathtaking as it was reassuring, because Manhattan seemed so big when standing in between buildings, but looked so small from farther away. Manhattan also meant home, and home meant the strange placidity Draco was still trying to get used to. A night spent with Harry in natural companionship was something he loved, but would have to get used to.

The artist in question was lounging in the passenger seat, looking out of the window at the other cars and illuminated buildings. It was rather humid outside, so Draco rolled down his window just as Harry did the same, and the cool night air hit them cleanly. The radio station started to static as they merged onto the bridge, and Draco changed it back to the local frequency. He was fiddling with it when he caught Harry staring at him, and he turned and leered. Harry shook his head in warning.

"How did it sell?" Draco asked, abruptly, wanting to add a 'by the way' to the end of that question.

Harry adjusted his seat belt and appraised him slowly. "Everything sold," his voice was cheerful, but surprised. "I can't tell if it's because I'm with you, or if they like my paintings."

"They sold before I came along, dumb ass," and then he cleared his throat, and said a bit gentler, "Of course they like them."

Harry smiled at him gratefully, and Draco grinned. He suddenly wanted to go back to the loft and see how grateful Harry really was.

"Severus and Remus looked very comfortable," he brought up instead, and was happy when Harry seemed to enjoy the subject.

He nodded. "They did. I don't think Severus is going back to Africa for a while." A pensive expression seemed to attach itself to his face, and Draco glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "They should adopt a baby."

Once he'd merged into the lane parallel to them, Draco looked at Harry full on and quite disbelievingly. "What baby?"

"Possibly an Ethiopian orphan..." and Harry truly seemed to be thinking hard about it. "Those kids need a home, and besides, Severus likes their culture."

"What about the kids here?"

"There's more in..." Harry seemed reluctant to continue the conversation. "Anyway, they should adopt."

Draco noticed his sudden silence for what it was and turned back to look at the road. "Well don't expect me to want one."

Taken aback, more by Draco inadvertently promising a long relationship rather then his own distaste for children, Harry stared at him hard and scowled. "I hate kids, so don't expect me either," he retorted viciously.

"Even little African babies?"

Harry did not want to get into the reasons why he despised babies, because there were a lot of them, so he merely said vehemently, "Not on your life."

They drove along, occasionally conversing, until finally it seemed they were pulling up to a building just outside of midtown. The square little structure was painted blue, and the night lights shining down on the exterior made it seem very jazzy indeed. The bar had live music, mostly all of the time, and Blaise and Draco had used to frequent the club back in their private school days. With an array of blue and red, they entered the loud frenzy of people, suddenly energized and laughing.

There was a band on the short stage, daringly close to the customers, and the man forefront was playing a saxophone with all the breath it took to run a mile. The pianist sat at the back, just as the bass guitarist plucked away into a long intermission and solo from the trumpet. Impressive though the band was, the atmosphere was even more apt considering their night of relative ease and pleasure. Having been to Brighton Beach, survived an art show, committed a B&E, and drove back to Manhattan all in the same night. The trumpet thought it was quite an accomplishment.

As Blaise set out to get even more sloshed then he already was, Draco got a glass of wine and Harry skipped the entire deal and went for a soda. Hermione seemed to be on Blaise's case nonstop, and they watched in amusement as Blaise continued to rile her up. Half way through Hermione's retelling of Blaise getting kicked out of a shopping mall, a woman approached them stealthily and gathered herself beside their table.

"Mr. Potter?"

They all turned to look at her, Draco's jaw nearly hitting the floor alongside Harry's, and Blaise staring at her in drunken recognition.

"Bella Lestrange," Draco blurted, and looked at her suspiciously.

She was a hugely elegant woman, and if it were possible, even more stunning then her sister Narcissa. Her long dark hair was curled to perfection down her back, and the wave of her bangs on her high forehead gave way to a strong jaw and sensual mouth. She was wearing a very smooth black dress, her long legs set in a stance of confidence and sexuality as the heels she was wearing looked sharp enough to impale. The red of her lips did not clash with her complexion, though it was very pale, and her eyes flashed a brilliant silver from underneath heavily coaled lashes.

Draco's Aunt was as beautiful as she was dangerous, and he watched that slender neck tilt to the side, waiting for a blow (possibly) and somehow the only thought on his mind was Harry. What would she want with Harry?

"Honestly, Draco," she said, and smiled. "Calling your Auntie something so informal...Cissa would admonish you."

"How the fuck did you find us here?" Blaise suddenly said loudly, and she turned to him, frowning.

"I called your father, who said you were at an art gallery, so I called the gallery, and someone named Wood or another claimed you'd gone back to Manhattan. I remembered that you used to go here, Draco, Blaise," she nodded at them. "Any more impertinent questions?"

Bella Lestrange seemed very different to Draco...less quiet and subservient in a fashion. He frowned at her, and nodded his head in an apology. She smiled at him.

"What do you want?" Harry asked, and her eyes found him...fondly?

"Ah, yes. How are you, Harry?"

"I'm all right, thanks," he lifted a shoulder. "What can I help you with?"

That smile was back, and that sensual catlike grace extended to her gloved hands as she reached into her handbag and brought out a yellow envelope. She tossed it, unconcerned if Harry would catch it, and reached in the bag again for a cigarette.

"What's this?" he inquired, and Draco leaned sideways to take a look as well. Blaise sat up fully.

Bella lit her cigarette and stared at him calmly. "Inside that envelope you will find a couple thousand, give or take," she exhaled a cloud of smoke. "And the account numbers."

"The what?!"

"What?"

"Why?"

She leaned against a bar stool and the long filter in her hands tilted arrogantly. "The account numbers. Tom and Lucius," she nodded to Draco. "Decided the money would go to dreadful waste if it rotted somewhere in the evidence bureau, and so..." Bella waved her hand, "It's yours."

"But the trial..." Harry protested weakly.

"The one in a week? Yes, well, when Lucius brought up the charges he claimed he didn't know where the money was, and consulted Tom after he'd been arrested. They decided to give it to you." Seeing them all looking rather skeptical, Bella shook her head impatiently. "We're not trying to set you up, be realistic for god's sake...the money can't go back into Madison and David because the police would know about it in seconds, and Tom can't use it . . . "

"Take it," she finished, sighing. "It's eighty-five million," that smile, "What do you have to lose?"

"If we do take it, we'll have eighty-five mill to lose!" Draco said, and snorted disbelievingly.

"Actually, it was meant for Harry," she grinned at his expression of complete shock. "Tom once said that you had spunk, and that spunk should be rewarded with God's greatest gift to man..." Bella raised both her hands, grinning. "Money!"

"You do realize this goes against every conviction I've ever made for myself," Harry said slowly, and she thought about that for a moment.

"Times are changing, ace. You'd best take it and be grateful," she winked. "Unless you want me to hold it for you...until you make a decision..."

"No!" Blaise, Draco, Harry, and Hermione all said at once. The rest all turned to stare at Hermione, and she bristled.

"What?" she leaned across the table and attempted to whisper. "It's eighty-five million dollars!"

"Yeah, Draco," Blaise conceded. "That's enough tacos to feed me for a few years!"

Draco looked at them in surprise. "Why are you asking me? I have my money. It's his choice," he pointed casually at the artist next to him, who was turning over the envelope thoughtfully.

"Well," Bella said, putting out her cigarette in a nearby ash tray. "I have an appointment with a fine-looking male and a wine cooler, I'll catch you on the sly, shall I? Bye now," she walked off, her dress moving sultrily to the sway of her hips.

"I'll catch you on the sly?" Blaise repeated, turning to look at Harry and Draco. "That lady is a relic of the fifties."

"She's not that old, Blaise, besides I saw you watching her like some lecherous..."

Harry had, meanwhile, turned to Draco despairingly. "Well...?"

Draco frowned, and nodded. "Well...?"

Somehow the prospect of never having to worry about money seemed like a very pleasurable thing. Harry expected there to be aversion, hatred, or disgust at even being offered the money. The same money that had killed his parents.

Somehow there was an odd acceptance, as if he'd been waiting for a nonsensical apology all along. This was Riddle's strange way of saying let bygones be bygones, and Harry...well, he accepted that. Sort of. Well, he accepted it enough to slip the envelope in his backpack, leaving it there so that later he could cry over it with Draco and wonder why he felt no guilt. Wonder why he had in mind his friend Seamus and the cost of his rehabilitation, and the various other necessities he would never be without again.

Despite the odd night of laughter and eventfulness, Harry, Draco, Blaise, and Hermione went on with their drinks until very early morning, and by then the band had retired and they were set to go home and sleep for an eternity. By then, they had permanently set out to change the world (in their rather drunken stupor, though Hermione was less where they were more) and stumbled out into the street precariously. As they walked, laughing quite loudly and swearing when a curb decided to come from out of nowhere, the sounds of New York City bared a resemblance to the fast paced trumpet beat, the steady trill of the Hudson river, and the tip tap of too many shoes in Manhattan.


	34. The Flower Shop

It wasn't until the end of the day that Remus Lupin glimpsed a short view of the sunset. The clouds were marching like soldiers toward the light, and just past the horizon of the sky, bursts of color in red and orange made him hum in appreciation. The last vestiges of the sunlight clashed against the side of buildings across from his eyesight, and bright window panes nearly blinded him in its reflection. He grasped the water can on his counter and placed it on one of the flower brackets, beside a wayward Wisteria and the lonely Myrtle pot. The hours were coming to an end, as his flowers closed rhythmically for the night.

The day had been busy, and warm. Summer was on its way, the sun heating anything in its path with a hunger that made Remus energized and weightless. A cold wind from the north still blew, however, and he faced its frigid gale to contrast the warmth of the afternoon. Many customers had expressed their worry of a drought during the season, but Remus knew better. He knew in the ever resilient rainfall that came with the wind, and he knew because his flowers seemed happy. Well, as happy as a flower could be.

As he cleaned up and closed his doors, Remus adjusted to the oncoming chill with a sweater, taking care to count the money in the register and coax the Wisteria into behaving. Of Bleeding Hearts and Snapdragons, Remus had them all...he had roses and lilies and carnations, their many colors and distinctions just as various as a spring dusk. He had the sky and the moon, of which he could just barely see coming across the dwindling blue heaven. Among these many possessions, he reckoned there were personal belongings that meant more-much more.

His steps carried him across his shop, and outside, where people passed him with a somehow softer quality. How much had changed since that day in September? How fast it had changed as well...such small things were so able to make waves, and Remus wondered. He wondered a great many things, but most of all he watched and waited but sought no answer. Perhaps it was because he was content, though by no means were circumstances' perfect. Interminable and tedious as each day could be...that particular date, that one last hour of light, provided enough solidity for Remus to be sure of himself. Sure and confident and all that made being happy a properly rated emotion.

In fact, after dealing with customers, he would usually want to bury himself in the covers of his bed and fall into slumber. He made plans with Severus instead, and he found he had quite a lot of meetings with the botanist, and enjoyed the time they spent together. Zabini had even expressed his shock and pleasure that they had lasted so long. Remus believed it was more chance then anything.

He wasn't tired, as Severus had asked him, and he wandered into his room and searched for something to wear. Mrs. Sprout had left early to visit a friend, and Dennis had decided the shop was slow enough for him to escape without admonishment. He didn't mind, considering he valued his time alone those days. So many had frequented the shop that Remus had to thank Harry and Draco for their influence, even if his gratitude wouldn't be well received.

Harry seemed to hate that strangers would recognize him on the street...and Draco, well, he was only annoyed that he was blessed with congratulations from friends and interlopers alike. He argued that Harry was the lucky one, and Harry said for all to hear that Draco was an arrogant prat that could barely fit his ego through the door.

They certainly made life interesting. Though the fighting could become extremely vexing (especially when they quarreled over meaningless offenses) Remus knew they used their fake anger to fuel their attraction. It was strange, odd, one-off, and all those other words for dysfunctional, but it worked for them...a lot better then niceties and pleasant companionship. He laughed when he thought about it, as most did, because though their pairing seemed ridiculous, it also seemed right. In any case, the abrupt interest the nation took to them was as beneficial to Remus as it was a burden to Harry and Draco

The loft seemed quiet that day, and though it was a welcome change, Remus wondered if they had killed each other and no one had noticed. Either that or they were...he blushed. Remus was much too old to be embarrassed by that. He and Severus after all . . .

Remus cleared his throat and set out his clothes, contemplating a shower to get the dirt off of this hands. He remembered, suddenly, that Dennis had asked him to relay a message to the lodgers. Apparently, a reporter had accosted Dennis about his relationship with the famous couple, therefore sparking an indignation from the young man that wasn't unfounded. Remus had been amused though, and he knew Draco would find it just as humorous.

His feet moved up the stairs and when he reached the door of the loft, he knocked punctually. There was no answer, and Remus sighed. He hadn't seen them leave, and given that it was Harry's day off, he expected that they would be either asleep or arguing. Harry was likely to be painting, though, and Draco on his laptop with five empty coffee mugs in front of him. He knocked again, and upon hearing no answer, he pushed the door open and was met with an empty room. Empty, in every sense.

The furniture was still there, the bottom edge of the stained glass window open, but the personal items that usually graced the tables and chairs were missing. Harry's backpack was gone, the canvases filled and stacked neatly against the wall, dishes washed but no food, and Draco's room was desolate and abandoned. No clothes, no paints, no papers, and no music. The loft was alone, but still heavy with presence and the warmth of the day. He suddenly knew that Draco's car would be gone, just as Harry's paint-stained shoes provided the steps he took away from the flower shop.

He walked around the room, examining the clean emptiness, and shook his head. It was very like Harry to not leave a note, and he remembered the last time he'd spoken with them. The night before, Blaise had come by (pissed off and hungry) and they'd all shared dinner together. Harry and Draco had been absurdly pleasant with one another, and Blaise had teased them without yielding about them being 'smitten'. They hadn't even started an unsurprising altercation, though their intensity was never eclipsed.

It made sense that they would decide to leave then. Draco had nothing to hold him back since he'd quit his job at Madison and David. Harry had never had anything tying him down...they must have decided, quite impulsively or not, that a little traveling was in order. When would they be back? Remus didn't know...and didn't much care. He was a bit shocked that Draco had agreed with Harry to leave New York, his home, but love did strange things to people.

Remus stepped into the last dredges of light from the sun, and looked around solemnly. His eyes caught the mural Harry had painted for his show, and he smiled. The city was represented with startling accuracy, and the sky above the towering buildings was almost identical to the honest one outside. With flowers sprouting up from windows and streets, acting as lamp posts and traffic signs, a beautiful Fluer-de-lis acted its part of the sun from the base of the diminishing sky. With no people, no select places, no dimensions or perfection...the mural was something Remus knew he would never get tired of looking at.

He gathered himself in their absence, and his smile grew wider. Severus would be pissed, and Mrs. Sprout excited for them. He imagined Lucius Malfoy irate, but resigned. He let his son be, of a sudden, allowing a freedom that Remus speculated had always been there...had Draco developed the nerve to look. Dennis would be upset, and the nation outraged that their celebrities had all but vanished. He wondered what he thought, himself, and was decisive.

For all of his knowledge, from accepting the oddest cultures and traditions of people, to dealing with someone like Dung, Remus had never quite gotten the gist of it. But suddenly, standing in the loft that at one time had been morbid and dusty, that was now a home, Remus understood clearly. A happiness possibly unprecedented made itself known within his heart, and just past the sly smirk of Severus' amusement, upon the sound of arguments and talk; Remus was content.

Because love's best friend was happiness, and he could finally understand what that meant.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks in advance to all those who take the time to read, and also much appreciation to the people that helped me with this plot. Leave me a comment, and enjoy!


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